


Journal

by Sterekg



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, I swear, M/M, There's a Sterek endgame, just wait
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-18
Updated: 2014-03-25
Packaged: 2018-01-02 00:07:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 46,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1050199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sterekg/pseuds/Sterekg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I read somewhere that whenever life gets a little bit out of hand, it's good to document it. It easier to face the facts when you see them written down, and you can stare them down. So here goes nothing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Facebook

“AH! Fuck me!”

Thankfully, my dad isn’t home to hear me swear as I stub my toe into my dresser. He doesn’t like it when I swear.

I give the incomparably inconsiderate piece of furniture a heavy smack over the top, just for good measure. In case it didn’t realize the waves of fury rolling off my body were directed at it. I like to make myself very clear.

“Where is that damn phone?” I half-groan, half-whisper to myself, really. I hear it ringing from some far-off land. It’s most likely the special ringtone I have for Scott. However, given that he’s one of the few people that ever call me his ringtone has practically become the usual one.

“Hello?” I answer as soon as I find it under a pile of clothes. I literally just got home from school, emptied my pockets and took off my shoes before going to use the toilet. How did it even get under there?

“Hey, Stiles, what’s up?” he asks me cheerily.

“Uh, not much since twenty minutes ago, when we left school.”

“Is everything alright? Why are you all… Bitchy?”

“Really? ‘Bitchy’? That’s the word you’re going for?”

“Did you trip over your own feet again, or something?”

“No…” I reply reluctantly. “I gracefully stubbed my toe.”

“Ouch. Listen, it’s my mom’s birthday on Sunday, and she told me to invite you and your dad for lunch.”

“Really? Just us two?” To be honest, I’m expecting something more. Me and my dad, only? Melissa McCall might very well be the nicest, most caring person I have ever met. She’s bound to have lots of people who care about her, and love her. At least people at work.

“Is anybody else going to be there?” I press on.

“Uh… Not that I know of. Why?”

“I don’t know, I mean, it’s her birthday. Doesn’t she want to spend it with someone else besides her son’s best friend and the town sheriff?”

“Stiles, you and your dad are as close to a family as me and my mom are ever gonna get. It would mean a lot to her if you could come, I’m sure.”

“Okay, sure.” Scott’s pretty good when it comes to the emotional speeches and everything. I wish I were more in touch with my feelings like that. Not in a melodramatic way, it’s just that I would like it if my knee-jerk reaction at any kind of emotion weren’t to bottle it up inside me until I can’t take any more and have a panic attack of varying degrees. “I’ll make sure to tell my dad as soon as I see him.”

“Alright, thanks. Come over later today.”

“I will, bye.”

Well, at least it’s Friday, which means I can pull the old “I’ve just missed a lot of sleep throughout the week,” and head home early, because if I know Scott—and think I do—he’s going to bring Allison tonight wherever we go. There’s a reason the words “third wheel” have a negative connotation. Here’s the harsh truth kids: it sucks being the third wheel, while the other two romantically hold hands.

I’m not saying that I’m desperate for affection, I’m really not. I’m just sick of being the kid who’s on the sidelines while everybody else gets their way.

I yank my MacBook open. A pop-up ad for a kinky adult website remained open from last night.

I swear, that’s not the reason I haven’t got anybody yet, either. I’m definitely not kinky. I’m open-minded, but not kinky. Then again, what is kinky? Having a few kinks and twists. Makes you special, doesn’t it? And to have someone understand and embrace them and love you anyway, unconditionally. It must be something.

It must really be something.

I guess I should also mention that I don’t actually suffer from depression, or anything. I just like saying deep, pretentious stuff like that. I like to think that I’ve got a way with words. They still decide to go galloping out of my brain every time I try and be even remotely flirty with anyone, but I’ve got a way with them.

Either way, I close the pop-up and remind myself to be a little more careful with what I leave on my computer for my father to accidentally see. I bring up my Facebook homepage and heavily consider deleting my account for just about the millionth time this week. I honestly use it for nothing. I’ve always thought that phones are a much more useful means of communication than social networking sites.

But, wouldn’t you know it, that’s the moment when the stars choose to align and I stumble across a notification which said that Scott McCall just became friends with some Derek Hale person. I click on his profile and try to get a decent look at the guy. Unfortunately, most of his pictures are hidden from people that he does not consider his “friends”.

“He’s probably that new kid,” I think to myself. Scott may have mentioned something about some Derek or Dale or whatever joining the lacrosse team. Damn, quitting the team is the best decision I’ve ever made. Of course, now looking at this guy, I’m beginning to wish I were back on the team, or better yet, on him.

I wonder if my hormones are ever balancing out. The constant horniness, I could do without. I can just see the business cards.

Stiles Stilinski: Perpetual Horndog.

What should I call this, anyway? I’ve been thinking about “Stiles Stilinski: A Memoir”. It has a ring to it. Then again, everything has a ring to it when you add the word “memoir” after it.

Steaming Turd: A Memoir.

Wait, where was I? Right, Derek. I send him a friend request. Not because I’m being a creep and I’m wishing he’ll accept my request ASAP so I can look at all his photos, but because I want to make the new kid feel welcome. I’m such a considerate person.

Suddenly, two hours have gone by and it’s almost six and I haven’t done anything productive except expertly poking around the Internet. My phone lights up.

“You on your way?” the message from Scott reads.

“Yeah,” I lie and grab everything that I’ll find necessary during tonight. We’re probably only going to go to TGI Fridays or something, so my wallet, keys and phone should suffice. I have a fleeting thought about my father still being out of the house before I rush outside, into my Jeep and drive off.

Driving is good. It’s great. It’s… Swell. I’m going with “swell”. I don’t care who you are, where you live or what you’re going through, whenever you have some kind of issue just get into your car and stop right about never, or at a red light—provided, of course, that you have a license. Thankfully, I don’t have any particular qualms to ease, so this time driving is just a few carefree minutes from my home to Scott’s.

I pull up outside his house, and there he is, standing with Allison. Only they’re both a little bit over-dressed for TGI.

They climb aboard.

“Hey, guys. What’s with the outfits?” I ask them immediately. I’m rocking the homeless/hipster look while being surrounded by my well-dressed friends. I’m either about to get Punk’d, or stranded in the middle of a flash mob. It doesn’t matter which of the two possibilities transpires, I will still want to drive off a cliff.

“It’s for the party. Did Scott not tell you?” Allison squeaks. Apparently, there was a third, unforeseen scenario, which also makes me want to drive off a cliff.

“What? No! Whose party?”

“Sorry, dude,” Scott murmurs, and yet looks undaunted. 

“Well, what you’re wearing is fine, Stiles. We weren’t planning on staying for too long, anyway,” Allison provides.

“Staying where?” I press on. Why is nobody telling me where they’re expecting me to drive them?

“Ah, you wouldn’t know him,” Scott announces dismissively while waving his hand around. “He’s a new kid, I only know him because of the lacrosse team. His friends are throwing him some kind of welcoming party.”

“Derek Hale?”

“Yeah, how did you know?”

“I saw that he added you on Facebook.”

“You checked out his Facebook?” Allison snorts from the backseat.

“No, the notification just popped up on my news feed!” I’m telling the truth; why am I so nervous?

“He’s pretty handsome,” she says in a singsong voice. Nothing else is said for the entire car ride, expect directions. Scott stares at me incessantly with absolutely no grasp over the wonders of discretion. Allison sits quietly, satisfied with the bomb she has dropped. It has apparently become her personal agenda in the past few weeks to claw her way into my life and drag me out of the closet.

Here’s the thing: Scott’s my best friend. He’s my brother. I’ve known him for as long as I can remember and our relationship has done nothing but grow and flourish as time passed. Why add so much stress to the delicate balance of things, especially with something as mundane as the truth?

Or maybe I’m just scared of what he’ll say, even if I do know he will have absolutely no problem with anything. Or maybe I just haven’t accepted it myself yet, and I’m simply not ready. Maybe both. Maybe neither. Sometimes life likes to play tricks with me like that. Whenever I catch myself thinking “maybe both, maybe neither,” I know I’m in some deep shit.

Am I too young to be talking about life like that? All I know is that I’m going to some random person’s house party, and I’m way underdressed. Hopefully we can leave early.

*

Okay, so, something is happening.

Everybody is wearing classy dress shirts—except me—and sleek leather shoes—except me—and looks pristine—except just-rolled-out-of-bed-and-drove-over me. All the girls are equally as appreciative of the dress code. Why is everybody in their best outfits for a freaking house party? This isn’t the White House Correspondents Association Dinner or something! Most of us are below eighteen!

“Why do you have your freak out face on?” Allison whines. Apparently, my brain hasn’t registered that showing complete and utter displeasure with my expression is not exactly polite.

“I am, way, way underdressed for this!” I hiss angrily. I can feel judgmental glances. “You could have given me a warning.”

“Oh, come on, don’t be like that. Probably nobody cares about what you’re wearing,” she tries to brush me off. What the hell is she up to tonight?

“Yeah, because I don’t know any of these people’s names, and I didn’t know that I was coming to this party until I was actually coming to the party! Also something you could have warned me about.” I can feel my eyes trying to pop out of my skull, smack her across the face and roll across the ground.

“Well, I told you as soon as we got into the car,” she replies pathetically. I almost demand an explanation for something else she said in the car, but thankfully Scott shows back up to stop the word vomit.

“Here you go, guys,” he says ecstatically and hands us our cups. It’s punch, fruity but no alcohol. Just as well, I’m going to be driving and I have just about zero percent self-control. It occurs to me that Scott is amongst all of his lacrosse buddies, and somehow Allison knows quite a bunch of the girls, like they’re in some kind of high school version of a basketball wives’ clique. The point is, people are mingling, and as if I needed another way to stick out, I now have nobody to talk to while Scott chats the night away with some Jackson person and Allison is fervently discussing something with a shorter, beautiful girl with almost red, curly hair.

“Screw this,” I murmur to myself. I’m still somewhat pissed at those two for giving me absolutely no warning about the party, but it’s an exceptionally weird move, so I’m willing to let it slide by once they provide some reasonable explanation, hopefully tomorrow. If they still think this was absolutely normal of them to do… Well, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.

In the meantime, I make the professionally precise decision to head over to the tables and indulge myself in some free food.

As I’m piling finger food onto my plate, preparing to eat my feelings until I’m prepared to grovel to get Allison and Scott to leave, somebody talks to me from the opposite side of the table. However, I have been thinking that I am invisible to every well-dressed person, and the sudden recognition catches me off guard, causing me to drop a pig in a blanket on myself get covered in crumbs.

“Hey! Stiles, right?”

This would be where said pig-in-a-blanket-dropping happens.

“Damn it,” I mumble and set my plate on the buffet to pat my clothes down. I look up at my new acquaintance. Damn indeed. He’s ridiculously good looking, and his arms are bulging through his shirt, I’m melting in his eyes. I want to jump him.

And suddenly it hits me. He’s—

“Oh, hi! I remember you!”


	2. Party No 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late upload :)

I look him up and down once more just to make sure that I’m not going partially blind. His face barely says 17, his eyes shine with innocence and his smile is like a child’s. However, the body… Let’s just say it’s not the kind of body you expect to see on a high school kid. He says something but I miss it completely. I’m too busy trying to see his abs through his shirt.

“What? Sorry, I didn’t catch that,” I blurt. It’s time for conversation. I can ogle him from afar, later.

“I said, ‘Do you remember me?’” he asks again, politely. So he’s nice, too.

“Of course! Danny, right? From the lacrosse team!”

“Yeah,” he nods. His expression gets even brighter. I feel like I’m looking into the sun, his smile is so white. Sometimes I think it’s just plain unfair that some people get all the good traits. Spread them around people! Let everyone have a piece!

“It’s a shame that you quit, though. We miss you—I mean, the team misses you.”

“The team misses me or the benches?”

“Hey, you played a lot of times!” he exclaims. That’s pretty sweet, trying to encourage me. But we both know he’s lying.

“I played once, and that was on tryouts,” I state monotonously. We both laugh along and next thing I know, we’ve been talking for about fifteen minutes. We’re getting to know each other and he’s pretty funny—amazingly, so am I. Now Allison and Scott have finished with their mingling and are standing next to me listening to our conversation. Who would have thought that I would be the one socialising out of the three of us?

It finally dawns on me that I should introduce them.

“I should introduce you guys! Danny, this is Scott, my best and Allison, his girlfriend. Guys, this is Danny. He’s on the lacrosse team.”

I’m so proud of myself for making a new friend, and so caught up in showing him off that I don’t even begin to think that they might actually already know each other.

But maybe it’s fine. Maybe I haven’t made an ass of myself. Maybe they’ve never even met.

“Yeah, Stiles, we already know each other,” Scott chuckles.

They’ve met.

I decide to brush it off as coolly as I can and make a quick exit by going to use the bathroom. I thank the stars and heavens that there’s no line. Standing somewhere for an extended period of time makes me nervous, like I’m an easy target for judgment. I don’t know what to do with myself. Actually, a lot of things make me nervous. Even trying to not be nervous makes me nervous.

I get in and lock the door behind me. I look at myself in the mirror and I’m immediately reminded how out of place I look dressed like this.

Who the hell wears a two piece suit to a high school house party?

I wash my hands for no reason and walk out. Actually, ‘walk out’ is a bit of an overstatement. ‘Stumble into the person who was about to knock the door’ is much more accurate.

Once we both manage to steady ourselves and say our half-heard curses and apologies, I take a look at him and I’m just angry.

Whoever decided that all the jocks of this school get to be this hot needs to be hung from a post. I’ve seen him around the school once or twice this year, but this is the first time I’ve been within touching distance.

Why did I use touching as a reference? I’m such a creep sometimes. I consider introducing myself, but then I realise that I have an impossibly slim chance of ever meeting him again, let alone being friends or anything more with him. However, my brain is down between my legs and my horniness wins over.

“Hey, I’m Stiles,” I smile awkwardly. I don’t care if you’re judging me, I really don’t. Dignity is overrated.

“Isaac,” he smiles politely yet coldly. And then everything went quiet. Shit. I didn’t plan for this part of the conversation. Before I can say anything, he just points to the bathroom over his shoulder, mumbles something and walks away. I walk back to my friends, still astounded at how awkward that was. Danny is nowhere in sight.

“So,” Allison begins squeakily. “You seem to be making friends quite easily.”

“I’m a sociable guy,” I growl. Scott scoffs at my remark. 

“Don’t worry, we don’t have to stay much longer,” he reassures me. “We just had to stop by because I’m on the team with these guys and it would be rude to not even show up.”

“No, it’s cool,” I blurt out. “We can stay as long as you want.”

“Really? You always say that you get tired really early on Fridays,” he says and squints at me. Maybe I should stop pulling that trick. It doesn’t seem to be as discreet as I had first thought.

“Really,” I nod. He smiles warmly, locates some random acquaintance somewhere off in the corner and walks away while waving and making a funny entrance.

Thankfully, that frees up my attention so I can now shamelessly gawk at the deity that is descending from the heavens, or more accurately, the staircase. He’s tall, lean, dark yet pale, serious yet inviting, firm yet relaxed. I immediately recognise him as the host of the party: Derek Hale. I might as well be at an Armani show after party, what with all the model-looking people running around.

Quite unfortunately though, Allison promptly yanks me by the elbow, out through the balcony door and onto the patio. A couple of guys nearby are standing outside too, smoking their cigarettes in the freezing winter cold, so she moves me away from them so she can scold me in private.

“Allison, what the hell!” I exclaim.

“Stiles, you have to tell Scott!” she hisses. She’s getting good at that lately.

“Tell him what?” I ask. I try to look genuinely confused, but I know it doesn’t matter whether or not I’ve succeeded, because either way she’s going to tell me what I don’t want to hear. She’s going to say the words I’ve been keeping inside for so long, not because I’m still understanding them, but because I’m too scared that if I say them out loud, they’re actually going to mean something.

“That you’re gay!”

And there it is. Just like that, my chest tightens and my stomach is threatening to empty itself out through every possible orifice. Now that it’s out there, I have to admit it. I can’t deny it. She knows it’s true and we both know that. Just like that, I’m different. I’m a target. I’m someone to be judged by my friends and family and the rest of society and—

“Stiles, are you okay? You’ve got tears welling up. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so forward, I just had to do something—“

“No, it’s fine,” I murmur numbly. I realise she’s right. I’m almost crying in a stranger’s back yard. Why am I reacting like this? I’ve known for so long, but I can’t help but feel this sort of melancholy in my brain and my heart and the rest of my body. It’s already settling into place and I hate it. I stand up straight, snivel a little bit and shove my hands into the pockets of my hoodie.

“It’s not your fault,” I try to smile at her. That’s all it took for me to fall back into the routine of fake smiles and pretending there’s nothing eating at me from the inside. Less than ten seconds. “I should have come clean earlier.”

“It was your secret to say, Stiles,” she shakes her head as if she’s just completed some terrible, irreversible deed.

“It doesn’t look like I did much of a job keeping it a secret,” I say, shrugging half-heartedly. “It’s not your fault Scott’s just oblivious to these kinds of things. He’s… trusting. He trusts me. He knows that if I want to tell him something, I will. And I haven’t said anything, so he doesn’t think anything’s different.”

“Different since when?”

“Since when we were little kids. We used to be inseparable, you know. Practically the same person. Not that we’ve had some kind of falling out, but we’ve just… Grown up,” I say nostalgically. Half the stuff that’s coming out of my mouth, I’m realising as I say it. “We’re still just as close as we’ve ever been, but we’re almost adults now. We all have a few dark secrets we could never share with anybody. Everybody does.”

“This doesn’t have to be that kind of secret, though,” she tries to soothe me. “You don’t have to keep it inside you because it’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“I know,” I say, and nod. I think that I really do ‘know’. “I just think that maybe it’ll come as much of a shock to him as it’s come to me and it’s going to be too much.”

“Stiles, Scott loves you more than anybody. Nothing could make him stop wanting to spend time with you, and I’m sure of that!”

I don’t know what else to say. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I’m tired, I want to sleep, and I mean it this time. I ask Allison if we can go inside, she makes a joke about me staring at all the hot guys, we walk back in with a newfound friendship. Somehow, I’m comfortable with all of this. I’m satisfied with everything that’s happened. I don’t care who’s walking in front of me, what the guy by the bar is wearing and whose ass looks unbelievable in those pants. I’m just happy that that just happened and it honestly feels like the beginning of something new in my life. It puts things into perspective, kind of.

*  
Shit.

Why? Why did that have to happen? Why was that so impossibly necessary that the world could simply not go on spinning without that happening?

I guess you don’t know what I’m talking about.

Shit.

As I lay in bed, looking back on tonight, I’m going to have to say that I blame Allison for practically everything. And to think of how well we had been bonding. It’s a shame. Really.

Everything started when we went back in, and I announced to Scott that I would like to go home. Polite as ever, he asked me if I would like to join the two of them lovebirds for dinner afterwards—I declined; also politely—and he proceeded to wonder aloud about the whereabouts of the host, so we could bid him goodnight and exit gracefully. Thankfully, he was right behind us, so, upon hearing Scott, he announced himself.

The only good thing that came out of that situation was that I found out the only cure that can—temporarily—quench my insatiable thirst for cute boys: emotionally draining and extremely personal conversations with Allison. When we faced Derek and told him that we had to leave I wanted nothing more to get home to my bed when she turned around and asked Derek if he knew me.

“Uh…” was his initial reply. Oh, and I knew I was turning red. Bright fucking red, bright enough to turn a person blind. “I’ve seen him around the school, yeah,” he had finally concluded. I would have been disappointed had I not been a little preoccupied with keeping my internal screams internal. His nod was friendly, but definitely restrained. By this point my thoughts revolved around shoving Allison’s hair in her own mouth to get her to shut up.

“Yeah, so why don’t you two get to know each other a little better while we say goodbye to Jackson and Lydia?” she’d said cheerfully and dragged Scott off.

Imagine a hand sprouting from within your own body, grabbing your windpipe and choking you. Those were my emotions. Derek shoved his hands in his pockets and tried to look nonchalant. He failed.

“So, your party looks like a great turnout!” I’d laughed nervously. That’s kind of ironic if you think about the fact that instead of laughing, I really wanted to be crying.

“Yeah, I invited the whole team, and told them to bring whomever they wanted,” he’d chuckled awkwardly. ‘Whomever’? Add ‘intelligent’ the list of things Derek is that I wish I were.

“I’m assuming you came here with Scott?” he’d went on. To be perfectly honest, it was pretty sweet of him to try and keep the conversation flowing, and the silences as far and few in between as possible. I remember thanking the heavens for his question. I could really drag my answer out, make sure that I had to leave before I even finished.

“Well, we met when we were really little, because of our parents. See, Scott’s mom is a nurse, and my dad works in the police department. With all the crime injuries and gun shot wounds my dad had to run to the hospital every two or three days to get a report. That’s how he met Ms. McCall.” I’d have kicked myself a little bit for calling her ‘Mrs. McCall’. Did it make me look like a dork? Or polite?

“Long story short, they met in the hospital and they realised they both had sons of the same age, so they introduced us. And we’ve been best friends ever since.” However, Scott and Allison are taking their sweet time gossiping with those other two.

He made some remark that I’m sure would have been charming had I been paying enough attention but I was intent on not letting the awkward silence take its hold now. While furiously searching for another topic, that Isaac person from before came up and asked Derek something. Good. I have extra time. I figured that if I got desperate I could always talk about school, but something else popped up.

“Sorry about missing the memo on the dress code, by the way, but I didn’t know I was coming to your party until about half an hour ago!”

He smiled brightly at that. Damn, he had a pretty smile.

“Perfectly understandable—“ He was about to say something else, I could tell, but finally Scott and Allison returned with the announcement that we had to depart. After we did so, I dropped them both off at Scott’s where they took Allison’s car to the diner, but not before they invited me to join them yet again. Honestly, I would have gone, but I just couldn’t handle being so close to Allison without being able to yell at her.

Nobody, and I mean nobody has ever put me on the spot like that! What kind of jackass move was that? Even if it did result in my conversation with Derek!

Suddenly, it’s Derek. Everything is about him, my entire thoughts are Derek-oriented. We actually hit it off. I mean, it was just about a minute long, but…

No! I’m supposed to be angry at Allison right now, not dreaming about boys like a little schoolgirl. As if it weren’t enough for her to force me out of the closet—and yes, I’m aware of how cheesy that sounds—she had to…

Somehow, I lose interest in her. I’ll scold her tomorrow. For now, I just drift asleep with a smile on my face.


	3. Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapters are getting longer I promise:)

Who is that? Somebody’s walking toward me. Their shoes are clacking loudly. It’s probably a girl.

Who is she? Even though she’s shouting, her voice is so muffled I can barely tell what she’s saying, let alone recognise her voice. Instantaneously, everything goes from unbearably blurry to crystal clear. It’s Allison. The next second, I’m somehow standing alone, in the pitch black darkness, and I’m weirdly aroused.

“Then again,” I think, “it could just be plain, old morning wood.”

What?

Shit. It’s morning. That was a dream. It makes more sense now.

To keep with the theme of weirdness, I get up less than half an hour after I wake up. I actually open my eyes for the first time today and swing my legs over the side of the bed within the same minute.

When I see my father in the kitchen reading some article about a theft he’s investigating, I realise I didn’t see him all day yesterday.

“Hey Dad,” I greet him.

“Morning,” he mumbles without even looking up. At least you can’t say he’s not devoted.

“Did you make anything?”

“Nope.” No pancakes? He always makes pancakes on Saturday mornings. I guess I’ll have to make them today. We’ve finally reached the point in our relationship where I take care of him instead than him taking care of me. Sooner or later, I’ll be getting him a Life Alert and some adult diapers. As I start making breakfast for myself and my now seemingly elderly father, I remember something. 

“Father?”

This gets him to look up.

“Scott invited you and me to his mom’s birthday lunch thing on Sunday.”

“Sunday, as in tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“Where is it going to be?”

“Uh, their place, I think,” I reply honestly. Did Scott tell me? I can’t even pretend to remember.

“Their house? How many people are they going to fit into a single dining room?” he asks. I realise, that’s actually a legitimately logical question. Why didn’t I think of that when Scott was telling me? My dad: the sheriff.

“Oh, no, it’s only going to be you and me and the two of them.” When I say this, I try to distinguish the sizzling noises between the batter hitting the frying pan and his brain short-circuiting at the news.

“What? Why?”

“I don’t know, that’s what I asked Scott. I figured that someone as nice as his mom would have a ton of people to invite, but he just said that me and you are like their family, or something like that, and he said she only wants to spend her birthday with us.”

By this point, he’s put the paper down altogether. He furrows his brows at me. When he opens his mouth to speak, he just shuts it without producing any word.

“Are you sure, Stiles?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I guess we just have to shut up and do it, don’t we? I mean, it is her birthday.”

I shrugged and tilted my head while placing the first pancake on my own plate. It soaks up most of the oil. I don’t want my dad eating that.

After that, it’s just a plain old Saturday. It’s kind of cloudy outside and it’s drizzling and I feel like I’m in Twilight. Where’s my hunky wolf-man to teach me how to ride a motorbike?

I thank my lucky stars that the homework for Monday only takes me about an hour to complete. I even did that Chemistry exercise we had. Chemistry. I’m such a good student today, I deserve a flipping award. However, there is something blaringly obvious here, which I will demonstrate in case you have yet to pick up on it, my mysteriously imaginary reader.

I’m only being so thorough to avoid thinking about Allison. Because I know that if I start doing that, I’ll get myself pissed, and pissed at her, more specifically. By extension, I’ll be pissed at Scott as well, which can’t be good because it’s just past noon and it’s time for his weekly call to ask me over to hang out. I have a fleeting thought of coming out today when my stomach threatens to majestically lunge out of my body through my mouth, so I postpone that thought for the time being.

Back to the point. Allison. Damn.

What the hell was last night? I wasn’t even drunk and everything went out of whack. I guess it started with the whole ‘gay’ thing. To be honest, I’m not sure if it’s a mean thing to say or not, but now that I think about it, I don’t really couldn’t give a damn about her figuring it out. It’s Scott that gets me all worried.

But then, she made all those innuendos and left me alone with (sizzling-hot) Derek! What was I meant to do there? She was hardly being discreet; I’d be very lucky if Scott didn’t connect the dots, and he’s not stupid—contrary to popular belief—he could have easily gotten the hint. Maybe I should just tell him today and get it over with. But then again, something as important as this, should it have some sort of build-up? Shouldn’t it be something more than just a chore you “get out of the way”?

I’ve read somewhere that secrets that only you know aren’t secrets at all, they’re just unspoken fears. The ones you share with someone, those are the real secrets. Only now am I realising how true this is. Practically, the only satisfying time to have made such a declaration is yesterday. Maybe if I’d gotten some booze in me, I would have come clean hours ago.

I need to calm down. I need help. I resort to texting Allison. Before I even manage to put my phone down, wouldn’t you know it, Scott’s number pops up and it starts shaking like crazy.

“Hey,” I answer.

“Hey, Stiles. Do you mind if I come over today, instead?” he asks awkwardly.

“Yeah, sure,” I say calmly. Inside, I’m dying.

“Alright, cool. I’ll be there soon.”

For a second, I almost run to the toilet.

He wants to come over? What’s happening? Why? He knows, damn it! I wanted to be the one to tell him! Shit, what if Allison told him? No, she wouldn’t be that person. What if he hates me for it? No that can’t be, he’s totally fine with Danny being gay. Damn it, what is going on?

As my lungs refuse to coordinate with each other, I try to keep myself busy by cleaning up. It’s a lost cause, really. Everywhere you turn, it’s clothes, clothes, more clothes, plates, that book I’ve been looking for about to get lost for another week or so…

The doorbell rings. How the hell is he here already? This day is just plain weird.

“How did you get here already, you called me, like, half a minute ago!”

“I was already on the way. Why are you holding those jeans?”

I look at my hand. I’m holding a pair of jeans.

“I’m cleaning up.”

“Your room?”

I nod.

“Wouldn’t it be easier just…to move houses?”

“Yes, it would, Scott,” my dad yells from the kitchen. I laugh uncomfortably as we walk to my room.

“How come you wanted to hang out over here today?”

“I haven’t been to your house in over a week! I was having a withdrawal,” he jokes.

“No, really,” I laugh along as carelessly as possible. He frowns at me. Did I go too far?

“Why do I need to have a reason? You’re acting weird. Is something going on?”

Of course, the best defense is offence. So I just start pummeling away.

“Well, you’re the one who wanted to change things up with the houses and asking me all these weird questions and I’m just acting weird because things are out of balance so in reality it’s all your fault, in which case I’m very understandably weird but you are not.”

He furrows his brow at me in confusion while he plops down on the single patch of visible bed. I put my jeans… anywhere, really. It seems like a good policy.

“So, no reason?”

“Nope.”

I look at him and he looks at me. Suddenly I have a flashback. We’re barely eleven and we’re running around his backyard, dying to be covered in dirt. We find a small patch of mud and decide to make optimum use out of it. We grab a small plate from inside the house, take the dirt and make the letter “S” on it, our common initial. Then we repeatedly microwave it until it solidifies into clay, so we can hold it and maybe even paint it without it crumbling to pieces, which it simply refuses to do. Then his mom comes into the kitchen to find us sticking a plate of mud into her microwave oven and freaks out.

It doesn’t matter that she yelled at us, though. I’m only now realising how accidentally symbolical that moment was. That was the moment Scott became more than my best friend forever of all my best friends forever: my brother.

“Scott, I need to tell you something, but promise you’ll be cool about it.”

“Okay,” he replied carefully.

Here’s the thing with coming out: it’s never a breeze. Even if you do it a million times, your throat still tightens just a little bit before the words are out.

“I’m, uh… Gay.”

His eyebrows shoot up and a bright smile is drawn across his face.

“Yeah, I know,” he nods at me. The brightness of those teeth are killing me. “But your dad’s face is telling me that he didn’t.”

I whip around. My dad is at the door.


	4. Phonecall

Okay, so, long story short, after that happened with my dad, Scott decided it was time to end his short visit. I then proceeded to have a heart-to-heart with my father which only felt about a billion light years long.

I don’t know if I should mention the details or not—I guess, if I were someone else I would be really curious as to what happened—but there’s not much to say, either way. It was the generic how-long-have-you-known, are-you-sure, I-just-don’t-want-you-to-get-hurt, I-will-always-love-you conversation you hear in every sappy story. Having said that, I have to admit I did cry a little bit. And don’t get me wrong, I know how lucky I am to have such an accepting dad, I just really wanted to get out of there.

He gives me a tight hug and a wholehearted pat on the back as I walk out of the front door. It’s Saturday morning. There’s a slight breeze, and it’s a little too cold for me, so I run back inside for a sweatshirt. Winter is on full blast, and Christmas is right around the corner.   
When I slam the Jeep door shut, I realise I have no idea where Scott is, so I give him a call. Thankfully, he’s at home, and I’m also there within minutes.

I run into his mom in the living room and she tells me he’s sitting out back. I take two cups of coffee with me, and offer him the one in the yellow mug. He loves it.

“So, how did it go with your dad?” he asks me with a small smile.

“Pretty good.” It’s quiet all around. The mornings on weekends are something else. Birds are chirping, a car in the distance screeching, Scott’s mother inside trying to rearrange something.

“You’re happy?” Is it a statement or a question?

“I am,” I reply honestly. Suddenly, this is one of those times in life where you can see a moment becoming a memory in front of your very eyes. Now, this can be very depressing, or satisfying. I opt for the secret, third, bittersweet scenario: nostalgia inducing, and yet appropriate.

“You know I still think you’re my brother, right?” he goes on. I smile at him, and look down at my coffee. I’m lucky to be surrounded by such people.

“So, you knew?”

“Oh, hell yeah. Before even you did, probably,” he says. I think about that for a second and realise it’s true, so I breathe a carefree laugh as I bring my mug up to my lips.

“Does anybody else know?”

“Allison figured it out. She told me last night at the party.”

Scott stops smiling for a second.

“Sorry that I didn’t tell you we were going—“ I cut him off with a wave of my hand. I don’t care anymore. Not about walking around some GQ models in my sweats, not about them keeping me out of the loop, not even about Allison being a little brat, in my opinion. Today is too perfect to fuck up with all of that.

“It’s fine,” I explain. It really is. The day I have been dreading with my entire existence has finally arrived, and it’s fine.

“We should do something today, the three of us,” he says. I raise my eyebrow at him. “I’m serious. Let’s go have lunch together or something. You can even bring a date.”

“We have lunch together every weekend,” I smile broadly at him.

“Yeah, but today is going to be different.”

“How?”

“Fuck, Stiles, I don’t know! Just different!”

We have another laugh before he calls Allison and invites her over so we can all ride in the same car. I think it’s strange how this is probably one of the most emotionally charged days of my life, or at least one of the top ten, and all I feel is a weak, yet ever-present buzz of contentedness. Other than that, I seem to have no opinion on anything.

When she arrives, Scott goes to meet Allison at the front door. He probably tells her what happened because she comes and sits at the head of the table, between the two of us. He then goes inside to get her a cup as well.

“How are you feeling?” she asks giddily.

“Allison, honestly, I think it was a really shit move of you last night to out me like that. You don’t do that to people, especially when they haven’t told anybody else in their entire lives.”

She stares at me dumbstruck.

“Thanks,” I go on. “I needed that… Wake-up call.”

I smile as well as I can at her to show her that I’m not angry anymore, just for good measure. Hopefully she gets the message.

We briefly have a heated discussion about where to have our lunch. It’s a tie between that Italian restaurant and TGI Fridays, and I hold the tie-breaking vote. Of course, I go for TGI Fridays, because I’m in the mood for a burger the size of my head. Surprisingly, it was Allison’s suggestion.

She and I end up waiting for Scott by the door as he’s lost somewhere in the house trying to grab a jacket. He’s taking a little bit too long, but he shows up after all. While Allison is getting into the driver’s seat, Scott nudges my shoulder and hangs back. I take the hint, so I also stall getting into the car.

“Should I tell my mom?” he asks me. I give it some thought. She’s the closest thing I have to a mother now, but does she expect me to sit her down and tell her?

“Sure,” I conclude and get in the passenger seat. Allison drives us to our destination, where, for some reason, we have to wait ten minutes before we get a table at noon on a Saturday.

Finally, once we sit down and give our orders, I notice somebody a couple of tables over.

“Where do I know them?” I say and nod my head at the two guys also having lunch. Their bodies say they’re in their twenties but their faces tell me they’re around my age.

Both Allison and Scott look over their shoulders. “From a crazy night out?” she smiles at me. Apparently I am prime mocking material for the next few days. Please, God, don’t let there be puns, too.

“That’s Danny and Isaac from the party last night. We should actually go say hi,” Scott provides. Not that I know them, but I did share a short chat with Danny so I decide to walk over with the couple and say a polite ‘hello’. Danny remembers me and is seemingly pleased at my reappearance into his weekend. Isaac remembers me as well. He does not look like he wants to exactly cuddle me up.

Finally, I come to the conclusion that I find Danny surprisingly cute. Damn, I’m not out of the closet for a full day and I’m already cruising for guys. Talk about hormones.

“Stiles! We met at the party last night,” he remarks. I stare at him blankly. Why do people make statements like that? Honestly, what do you expect me to reply? “Indeedio”?

“Yeah, I remember our heart-to-heart over the snacks,” I finally reply. I’ve probably done something right as he smiles back at me. Isaac looks neither pleased nor displeased. Can he smile?

“We’ll let you guys get back to your food,” Allison says and each person goes back to their seat. Somehow, I’ve picked the one that faces Danny. And Danny’s arms. And chest.

Shit. Concentrate. Menu.

Naturally, I get the biggest thing they serve that doesn’t qualify as a whole animal, Allison complains about the fact that I never gain any weight, I explain the not-so-obvious disadvantages to having such a crazy metabolic rate: the usual.

“So,” Allison decides to begin halfway through our meal, “have any guys caught your eye?”

“Not yet,” I lie. I remain surprisingly calm after her question. 5 awesome points for me. “I’ll make sure to inform you as soon as possible.”

“Please do so,” she nods. “God knows I love her, but Lydia is the worst person you can listen to about guys. Her taste is so… Greedy.”

“You talk about other guys?” Scott suddenly pipes up.

“Mostly she talks, and I give her advice.”

“Advice about what?” I scoff. “How to cheat on Jackson without the entire school finding out this time?” Ah yes, the wondrous scandal of the New Year’s Eve party of 2012. Juicy stuff.

“Come on, she was drunk,” Allison tries to defend her.

“So what? You don’t take your panties off every time you’re drunk, do you?”

Scott’s eyebrow shoots up at my remark, and Allison tries to hide her smirk. She goes to kick Scott under the table but gets me instead. She doesn’t seem to realise, however and I decide not to tell her. Ignorance is bliss, right?

Somehow, eventually, Scott’s mother’s birthday lunch/thing comes up. I’m surprised when he invites Allison.

“What?” is her reply.

“Why don’t you come tomorrow? She loves you. Bring your parents, too!”

“Scott,” she chuckles in a way that says she does not want to attend. “It’s not your party. I don’t think you can invite me, it doesn’t really work like that. It’s your mom’s call.”

“Okay, so I’ll ask her as soon as I get home,” he concludes with a satisfied smile. He then moves on to a totally different topic while Allison remains frozen to the spot. He says something about some upcoming Christmas holiday party someone is having, and I try to listen (I really do!) but the sight of Danny’s arms being barely contained by his top is so very distracting. I guess it just goes to show that, gay or straight, teenage guys are pretty much horny every single minute.

“Stiles?” Scott interrupts me.

“Yeah?”

“Are going to come to the party?”

I think it over. “Sure,” I conclude. It’s not like there’s any chance of me being busy otherwise. Plus, if the previous party is anything to go by, it should be pretty interesting.

When we finish our meal, we get up to leave, but not without saying a quick goodbye to Danny and Isaac. I then come to the realisation that I’ve only been wanting to feel Danny’s arms and thighs and the rest of his body, but not listen to his words, regardless of his great sense of humour. I make a mental note to actually get to know the guy. I think we take Chemistry together?

Allison drives us around randomly for a little bit and we have a brief discussion in the car about music. It’s the one thing Scott and I disagree upon.

“Why are we stopping here?” I say. Allison opens her mouth but Scott beats her to it.

“I want to go in that store, check out what they have for the party,” he says as he points across the street. That store turns out to be Target.

After a good ten minutes of roaming around, following Scott and hearing screaming children in the distance, I ask, “I thought your mother wanted a small get-together. What are you looking to buy here?”

“No, it’s not for her party,” he explains.

“Then whose?”

“Mine! Weren’t you listening before?” he whines.

No.

“Yes! I just didn’t think you’d want to start looking for supplies so soon,” I manage to explain.

“Well, it’s only a couple of weeks from today, and I’m going to invite everybody in a week, so that only leaves me with seven days to get everything ready.”

“No, it doesn’t. You know, you can still go looking for stuff after you’ve already invited every—“

“Oh, that looks good!” he exclaims as her runs away. Allison realizes there is no way she’s going to keep up, so she falls back with me.

“So, are you going to Scott’s mom’s lunch tomorrow?” she asks carefully.

“Yeah, about that. Why don’t you want to go?”

“Hey, who said I don’t want to go?”

“Your face.”

She scowls at me.

“It’s just that… It’s Scott’s mom,” she explains with a tone and a face that’s supposed to imply something, something I don’t get. “She’s the nicest person ever and all that, but she’s my boyfriend’s mother. I don’t belong at her birthday party, much less my parents!”

“Yeah, I guess so… But if Scott asks her and she’s fine with it—“

“As if she’s going to tell him ‘No’.”

To be honest, for some reason, I’m completely torn. On one hand, I think she’s being a bitchy little brat. On the other hand, I think she’s perfectly correct. Oh, puberty.

“Look, just come to the thing, stay for an hour or two, then say you have some other kind of commitment and take off with your parents. You can handle two hours of awkward, right?”

“I guess so,” she mumbles.

All in all, it’s a good trip to Target. Scott buys just about a billion red plastic cups, the kind you see in all the high school house parties in every teenage-oriented Hollywood film. We manage to stuff them all in the car, Allison drives me home, then she goes on her way with Scott. We have a fleeting agreement to get together for dinner as well if nothing comes up by then.

I stumble into my room and decide to stumble out again. I go to the kitchen, grab myself a Coke, and stumble back. It’s not that I’m tired, but I literally have got nothing to do. I sit on my bed and look outside the window for a second, and I catch my reflection on the glass.

I think of how I look exactly the same, even though I’ve gone through something so huge and meaningful in my life over the past twenty-four hours—I’m out now. Or at least, that’s how I will myself to feel. That’s what people always say when they look at their reflections, don’t they? How the change they’ve just gone through might have actually been much less shocking than they’d built it up to be, and that it puts things into perspective and all that. Maybe it does, maybe it doesn’t. Personally, I think it could, but it doesn’t as often as we think. More often than not, your reflection does nothing but induce a baseless sense of nostalgia if you stare at it long enough.

I’m so desperate to give my mind something else to think about, preferably not as melodramatic, that I actually open my bag and pull out some—God forbid—homework. Of course, I’m blasting music as I’m trying to complete it and I’m not sure if it helps or not, but either way, it keeps me from committing arson.

It’s only an hour later when I’m sitting at my desk and I get a text message:

Hey, can I call you? Scott gave me your number.

—D.

What?

What?!

What’s going on? Who is this? Why are they texting me? D? Who is D? Is it somebody I should know? Obviously it’s someone I should know, they know Scott. Wait, the only people that Scott knows that I don’t know are his lacrosse friends. Why is one of the lacrosse players texting me? I’m going crazy!

Sure.

Why did I answer that? Was it cold and distant? But what the hell should I have done? Add some kind of smiley face? I don’t even know who this is; I’m not about to—

The phone rings. My chest feels like there’s a horde of wild animals running around in there.

“Hello?” I pick up.

“Hey, Stiles! What’s up?” he says merrily.

Whose is that voice? It’s familiar.

“Uh, not much,” I stammer. It’s surprisingly difficult to have a conversation with someone whose identity is completely unknown to you. How many details do you share? I decide to go for it. “I just got home, like, an hour ago.”

“Yeah, I figured as much.”

“How so?” I hope the anxiety doesn’t show in my voice.

“Well, I just saw you at the restaurant leaving with Scott and Allison. You said ‘Hello’, remember?”

It’s Danny.

“Yeah, of course I do, I just—it kind of slipped my mind there for a second ‘cause, you know…” Do I even know? “It’s been a weird hour.”

“Yeah, I believe that,” he chuckled. I can’t understand if he’s saying it jokingly.

“So, what’s up?” I ask, too loudly. Anything to change the subject.

“Oh, yeah, I hope you don’t mind that I got your number from Scott, but he told me it would be okay, and I had something to ask,” he announces with no waver in his voice. I, on the other hand, am perfectly losing my shit.

“Okay, shoot.” ‘Shoot’? Who the hell says ‘shoot’? I can’t pull off ‘shoot’!

“Right, well, I was wondering if you were free tonight?” 

And then I passed out.

*

What do I do?

I have not been planning for this. Had I been planning for something like this to happen, maybe I would be slightly better prepared, but I have not prepared for this, ergo I’m fucked!

Danny. Danny just asked me out. One of the hottest/nicest guys in the school just asked me out. When the hell did I trip and fall through some invisible portal to a parallel universe where I’m actually desirable by anyone besides middle-aged lonely men stalking strange cyber-sex websites?

Do I tell Scott? Yeah, I should. But then again, I would like to be cool and nonchalant about this. I can just see it happening:

“Hey, Scott, what’s up?”

“Well, pretty much the same. You?”

“Oh, I just got asked out by a hot guy.”

“Good one.”

What are we doing? Where am I meeting him? Damn it, I’ve forgotten already! No, wait. We agreed on the diner, I remember that. Well, at least he’s a casual kind of guy, I like that.

The butterflies in my stomach are going nuts. I have almost never spoken to him, and now I have to spend several consecutive hours with him? What the hell does he expect me to talk about? I can’t be funny, only Scott finds me funny! I need to stop pacing. Sit down, Stiles.

“Stiles, what’s wrong?”

I look up. My dad is staring at me worriedly.

“Oh, it’s nothing, don’t worry,” I try to dismiss him. Is it rude? I mean, it’s understandable to find it hard to keep a conversation going while having a stroke.

“Are you sure? You look frustrated to say the least.”

I look up and glance at my dad’s face, getting ready to mutter some piss-poor excuse when I see genuine concern staring me dead in the eyes. He doesn’t look at me like that much anymore. It used to be his default setting back when I was having panic attacks left and right, but we’ve… adjusted. 

“Yeah, dad, really. I’m just overreacting,” I breathe after having visibly relaxed.

“Alright,” he concludes skeptically. “You know you can talk to me right?”

I consider telling him the truth, but it’s not entirely necessary, is it? Plus, my and Danny is not strictly speaking an image that he needs to form in his head.

“Of course.” He nods as he walks away. Immediately, but not surprisingly, I feel a familiar pang of guilt. I hate breaking down in front of him, making him feel like he needs to protect me, as if I’m the only one of the two of us who would need the other to listen to their concerns. I’m almost an adult. I’m the closest thing to a best friend he’s got left. I just wish I could make him understand that he can, too, talk to me.

Despite my short moment of soul-searching and serious thought, I have not found clarity about what the hell I’m meant to do about tonight. I call Scott and obviously he’s at home, but not so obviously, without Allison. I get in my car and drive over as quickly as I can.

“I need help.”

“Why? What happened?” he asks me with a ridiculous smile.

“Scott…”

“Well, tell me.”

“You kn—“

“Come on!”

I sigh. “Danny asked me out.”

Scott jumps up and down like a crazed puppy seeing its owner for the first time in days. He holds me and furiously pats me on the back while howling with laughter.

“That’s great!” he shrieks “When did—“

“He told me you gave him my number,” I say with no emotion. I was hoping that it would calm him down, but the statement barely did it. Then I realise something.

“Did you tell him to ask me out?” I demand while frowning.

“No! I swear!” he exclaims while waving his wide-open hands in front of him as if he’s just been accused of manslaughter. “He came up with it all on his own!”

“Well… He’d better,” I warn him while squinting viciously. But Scott’s puppy-dog eyes get the best of me. “He’s pretty cute.”

Damn. Was that inappropriate? Is it too soon?”

“Cuter than me?” he reacts while posing dramatically. I reply, “Yes,” with no humour in my voice and he laughs.

I ask him about advice, about what he did with Allison on their first date. Surprisingly, he remembers. Maybe it’s not just a high school, teenager fling. I’m not saying they’ll end up getting married or anything, but they seem to be in it for the long run. And the way he talks about Danny and me, he makes me feel as if everything is back to normal. Maybe even better. He’s already suggesting double dates. 

That’s the reason he’s my best friend. That’s the reason anyone is anyone’s best friend. Making the other person feel completely at ease when they feel like their whole world is spinning like a plate; it’s not something just about anybody can do. It’s as if two people are destined to meet and establish a friendship between the two of them, and I’m so glad I’ve met Scott so early on in my life. I have no idea what I’d do without him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading x


	5. Date Night

So, date night is slightly more nerve-racking than I had expected, but nerve-racking nonetheless.

I’m meeting Danny at the diner in about fifteen minutes, or should I say I’m meeting Danny here in fifteen minutes because I got here twenty-five minutes early.

I don’t know what to do with myself. The waitress has been over to take my order two times by now, I was forced to get some water. Between her judgmental looks and the sounds of my watch ticking the seconds away I would have ordered three burgers, a club sandwich and a milkshake to wash it all down just to get her to leave me in peace.

I keep telling myself I can do this, and it kind of helps. I can have a normal conversation. I can talk to a human being. I try to avoid saying his name in my head; I will have plenty of time to panic about the fact that Danny is that human being when he’s sitting opposite me.

And suddenly, just like that, it’s eight o’clock. More importantly, it’s eight o’clock and he’s not here yet. Why is he late? Did something bad happen to him? Have I made a mistake on the time? Or is he just plain ditching me?

No, Stiles. Shut up.

Danny is a good guy, he wouldn’t ditch. This isn’t a medical drama television show. If the most likely, normal thing is that he’s running a few minutes late, then that’s probably what’s happening and there’s no reason to worry.

Within a few seconds of me managing to calm myself down my system drowns in adrenaline yet again when I see him walk in. I perform an awkward wave to catch his attention and then smack my head over how jerky that probably looked. It also occurs to me that he just saw me smack my head.

“What was that for?” he smiles as he sits down in the booth with a look that could make a hitman of the Russian mafia melt.

“I just realised I… Left my jacket in the car!” Which is true. Not that I’m cold, but what the hell else should I say?

“Oh, yeah, it’s really cold isn’t it? We went from autumn to winter in, like, two days or something!” he says gravely. He makes something as boring as the weather sound interesting. I’m trying to change the subject but it’s not as easy in practice.

Heavy rain clouds covering the full moon are starting to pelt the windows with heavy raindrops. My phone starts vibrating but I ignore the call.

“I know, right? Is it messing up with your lacrosse practice?” I ask interestedly. I already know the answer from Scott, but I mentally pat myself on the back for the skillful segue.

“Yeah, it does a lot, actually,” he groans with a grimace. “Every time there’s too many puddles on the field, or something, we have to take a rain check. Literally. It’s pretty much a waiting game until the coach calls us to say that it’s dried up enough and we should head over.”

“It’s a rough time for all of us,” I nod sympathetically. Danny laughs. I made him laugh. Chuckle. Chortle.

“It actually is for the coach, lacrosse is pretty much all he has to do in his free time after he broke up with his girlfriend.”

We spend a good ten minutes discussing the coach. Thankfully, I’ve been on the lacrosse team, so I’ve gotten a taste of how he can be, and that gives me details to offer to the conversation. Eventually, the waitress comes up to our table, popping her gum like nobody’s business and rudely asking us, “So, what’s it gonna be?”

I couldn’t care less. It’s coming back to me now, his charm and wit from when I struck up a conversation with him at Derek’s party. The ease with which he can keep a topic flowing, and interestingly at that, is admirable. I wish I had a way with words like that. Maybe if we hang out enough it’s going to rub off on me.

Flicking through the menu, I try to find something which I can eat with a fork and knife, and not my hands and face. He doesn’t necessarily need to see me pigging out on the first date. Of course, when he orders a cheeseburger, I get the exact same thing and wish for a world full of Dannies.

Of course, the food is heavenly, the company’s great, and there’s something vaguely comforting about sitting inside the warm diner while there’s a storm raging outside. All in all, I’m having a pretty damn good time, and my heart rate even falls back down to normal levels somewhere between the first bite and the request for the check. 

It’s done. The date is done. We came here, we had our dinner, now we’re paying and we’re standing up. And I didn’t screw myself over.

However, he spends a couple of seconds squinting at me, as if he’s examining my outfit or sizing me up.

“ Do you want to go for coffee, or something?” he suggests with a weird smile on his face. There’s a deeper meaning to his look. “I’m having fun, I don’t want to go home yet.”

I stare at him for a second, dumbfounded. What did I do right? “Yeah, of course! Let’s go!”

As we’re walking out—thankfully, it’s not raining much—he suggests that we take one car. I don’t know if it’s the cold or what he said but I’m almost frozen to the spot.

“Let’s take my car, I have my jacket in there and it’s getting really cold,” I giggle. I’m giggling the simplest of sentences. I’m like a twelve-year-old.

On the other hand, he giggles, “Sure,” too, so at least we’re being twelve-year-olds together.

We go into town and decide to play a little game we made up on the spot where we try to find the most hipster-looking coffee shop. It doesn’t take long before we find it and we walk in. He takes his coffee black, I could never. I barely let myself have coffee as it is because the caffeine really gets to me; to have that bitter taste hit my tongue every damn sip would be some form of ancient Chinese psychological torture.

I decide to ask him some more other sorts of questions; questions one might call boring, and yet I characterise as revealing.

I ask him about any siblings he might have—only child—and other family-related things. Family means a lot to me, and I’m not saying that I want him to meet my dad or anything, but I really think a person’s relationship with their family says a lot about them. Thankfully, he’s on pretty good terms with both of his parents, unlike half the kids our age. I’m surprised when he tells me about the time his parents were separated for some time—there was an infidelity issue, apparently—and how detailed his description is. I didn’t expect him to share something that personal so soon. Does he assume that it’s okay to say something that serious since we already know each other, so it’s like starting out on the third date?

Oh God. Please don’t let him ask about my parents.

“How about you, then? What about your family?”

Damn.

“I—I don’t have any siblings,” I stutter to begin with, trying to phrase my thoughts. “But I live at home with my dad. We get on great. I think because it’s just the two of us, we’ve grown really close to each other.”

“Right,” he smiles warmly and puts his hand over mine on the coffee table. I’m trying to stifle a noise somewhere between a shriek and laughter while I look into the most welcoming eyes I’ve seen in some time now. I come to the conclusion that he already knows about my mother, and he’s understandingly not pressing on in the slightest. Instead, he comforts me. Smooth save, Mahealani.

I look down at our hands for a couple of seconds before he pulls his own away. I could get used to this.

“I didn’t mean to pry, you know that, right?” he asks me reassuringly.

“Of course. Don’t worry about it,” I tell him.

It’s not long after that before we decide to head home. He treats me to the bill—his excuse: it’s for the gas—and I drive him back to the diner parking lot for him to get his car. I walk him to his car door, but when we get there, he’s hesitating to jump in and he’s playing with his keys.

“Thanks for tonight, I know it was pretty last call, but I had a great time!”

“Oh please, I barely have a life of my own. Nothing is ‘last call’ for me,” I say. He laughs some more, as he’s done for a good portion of the evening. I’m only half-joking.

“So, we’ll do this again? Soon.”

“Sure, I’d like that!”

He’s pretty quiet for a second and he looks deeply thoughtful while he bites his lower lip. He has a sudden moment of clarity, as if he visibly decides to throw caution to the wind, and starts to lean in. Of course, this is my life so a group of people emerge loudly from the diner’s back door and into the parking lot, very close by from us, ruining our little moment.

I look to see who would dare to interrupt the greatest moment of my romantic life so far, when I recognise a bunch of lacrosse players from my own school. I see some familiar faces from Derek’s party, including Derek.

After we wave at them, Danny and I say our quick ‘goodbye’s and part ways. I indiscreetly watch him walk to his car, before I get into mine and get myself home. It’s one of those drives where you can’t really tell what you’re doing, it’s all routine and your mid is running around all over the place. I know I should be focusing on the road, but screw that.

Because, I think he was going to kiss me.

I’m giddy with excitement even when I get out of the Jeep and into my house. However, I soon realise I’m in for some more surprises when I walk in and see Scott with my dad watching some athletic event on the television and eating junk food.

They gladly invite me to join them, which I refuse politely. I tell them I’m going upstairs to change into something else. I almost ask Scott what he’s doing over here, but it almost doesn’t matter to me.

I’m pulling my sweatpants on when there’s a sharp knock on my door and Scott barges in.

“Hey,” he begins cheerily. I can tell he wants to tell me something, and I can already guess what that something is.

“Hi. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming over? I could have told you to come later when I would have been in.”

“No, no, it’s cool. I like your dad’s company,” he reassures me. God, he’s practically bursting to tell me.

“Or, you didn’t want to miss a second of asking me about the date.”

“So what happened?” he exclaims. Of course, I tell him everything. He’s more excited than I am. I tell him about how great I find Danny, how everything just clicked, but not about the almost-kiss. No point in making a fuss over what didn’t even happen. I’m obsessing over it, obviously, but not out loud.

“See?” he finally says when I finish telling him.

“See what?”

“I knew he was a great guy!”

“Of course he’s a great guy, he’s Danny. Everybody likes Danny.” I’m trying to be nonchalant. Is it obvious?

“Yeah, but Danny likes you back!”

“Scott, relax,” I’m soon laughing, “you’re acting like he asked me to marry him or something.”

His shot-down puppy-eye look works, but not well enough. Even though my night went great, it was pretty draining. I can’t have him pissing himself from joy in my room.

Suddenly, Allison walks in.

“Okay, so do you two live here now, or what?”

“Stiles, what are you talking about?” Allison asks me as if I have no reason to be curious as to what is going on.

“How long have you two been in my house? And where were you when I came in?”

“Toilet,” she squeaks. She turns to Scott. “I thought you’d said you were going to tell him we were going to be here.”

“I tried, but he didn’t pick up. I guess he was already on the date,” Scott continues to talk about me.

“Oh, right!” Allison says with the face of a sudden revelation. “How did everything go?”

I tell her too, but not in as much detail, because I’m only human. To be honest, though, I’m enjoying the attention. For once, I’m the person who has a great story to tell, from whose lips everybody is hanging. It’s a devilishly satisfying feeling.

Her reaction is relatively just as high-pitched as Scott’s, and I conclude that this is yet another reason that these two are perfect for each other. I know that at some point at least one of them has wanted to ask me to agree to a double date, but I’m not ready to subject myself to that kind of awkwardness, not yet.

Scott suddenly runs out of the room with an “Ooh!” sound. I would have found this weird, but it’s Scott. Allison and I discuss some details before he sprints back inside with a bowl of popcorn.

“How did you make that so fast?”

“It’s from before, when we were watching the game with your dad.”

The conversation rolls on and on, and at some point we start jumping from one subject to the next. Allison is biting her lip every now and then, but I ignore it. Stuff like that doesn’t always have to mean something.  
From there on out, that’s pretty much it. Scott and Allison stay in my room and we laugh and we joke and we talk some more, we spill the popcorn, clean it up, make some more, decide we want candy instead, go and get some and come back and continue. Great night, great friends, great fun. So far so good. I just… I really hope nothing comes my way and screws everything up for me. That tends to happen in my life.

*

Maybe one day I’ll tell someone besides Scott and my dad about my fucked up life. Hell, if Danny and I get close enough I can tell him the truth about why I live alone with my dad. But not right now. I’ve made enough revelations in this past day and a half. Opening up like that… It’s just plain scary. If you don’t take into account the freeing relief afterwards, spilling the truth about something might just be one of the hardest things people have to do, right up there with apologising and breaking up with someone; that’s probably why people always put them off. Of course, this can’t help but end up causing an even bigger mess in the end.

Why do we do that? Ignore the impossibly huge problem in front of us and opt for psychological turmoil instead, when we have a perfectly simple solution. It’s as if a short and painful conversation is much worse than a self-destructive, internalised approach. At least we’re damn good with avoiding the truth. It seem to me that it’s the only thing every human being is capable of accomplishing, a skill neither learned nor taught, but borne within our entire species since the time of our birth. Denial.

I could use a lesson or two in letting the truth out, to be honest. Not that I’m a compulsive liar or anything, but I tend to keep my words to myself. Obviously, I’ve had some more serious conversations with Scott, but the ones I remember I can count on my two hands, probably. It’s been kind of a defining trait for me ever since the worst thing ever happened to me, bottling everything up inside. I admire people like Scott: open, always predisposed to tell and ask and share. Maybe I’ll ask him how he does it. There’s probably nothing specific he does, but I’ll ask him anyway. That implies showing my true colours though, which, as we have discussed, I’m not very good at doing.

Shit. When did I get myself in this depressed mood?

I guess I should mention the Scott and Allison have both left, hours ago. I can’t sleep. It’s… half past two in the morning. I heard my dad shuffle around outside my door. He always gets up to use the bathroom when he sleeps. Thankfully, I’m not a light sleeper, or he would have been waking me up every single night.

I hope he doesn’t walk in here. He gets worried when I can’t sleep, and I hate to seem him be so worried; especially because of me.

I just remembered. Scott got them junk food. My dad shouldn’t be having that kind of crap. I’ll remember to scold Scott later… “Scold Scott.” That sounds funny.

Look at me, giggling in the dark. I need sleep.

*

“Stiles! Get up!” my dad yells for the millionth time. I guess it’s an appropriate time for me to actually do it.

I open my eyes, get up and open the door to witness him running around with a tie clinging around his neck.

“What’s the rush?” I ask without bothering to show any interest in faster-than-average movements.

“We have to be at Melissa’s in fifteen minutes!”

Shit.


	6. Lunch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Expect a double update during the holidays, or one extra-long. Happy holidays! x

I barely remember what I did between the point when I woke up and found myself at the McCall house, it was all mechanical. Only sped up just about 38.5 million times. It doesn’t really matter though because the air is dripping in awkwardness and God knows I’m letting it all soak in. The Stilinskis, McCalls and Argents, all under the same roof at the same time? Yes, please.

I’m not a mean person. I just appreciate a potentially amusing scenario when it’s presented to me.

I can tell Allison is dying inside. At least the adults are being mature about it, but every single movement she makes has an edge to it. I don’t know if she’s trying to avoid or impress Melissa.

“Jesus, Stiles, you look like you woke up thirty minutes ago,” Ms. McCall tells me when we’re both left alone in the kitchen, trying to grab platters to move into the dining room.

“Well, that’s good,” I muse. “I woke up twenty minutes ago.”

She laughs as she walks out while holding a huge casserole in her oven-mitted hands while I’m following her with the salads. At the table Allison insists that I sit between her and Scott.

“Allison, what is the matter with you?” I hiss under my breath. “You’ve met Scott’s mom so many times now!”

“It’s was always just a ‘Hello’ or something, not a full-blown dinner. With my parents present, too!”

“Well, just ignore them. Nothing is going to go wrong!”

In my opinion, nothing did go wrong. However, in retrospect, some details were not necessarily one hundred percent flawless, for example when Allison dropped the mushroom/artichoke thing and the platter shattered in the middle of the kitchen. But looking on the bright side, it wasn’t Melissa who made it, so it wasn’t as if her efforts had gone to waste; plus we didn’t have to endure trying that putrid thing, so everybody wins! Well, except Mrs. Victoria, who cooked it. Or Allison, who insisted on cleaning it up. After that, I think she had a tiny, silent panic attack in her seat.

Other than that, things pretty much went smoothly for everybody. I had to endure some hits from Scott—or my father, had he been able to reach me—for laughing at inappropriate times, but that’s like second nature to me by now. Nobody vomited, caught on fire or had to be rushed to the ER. All in all, a good birthday.

Finally, for dessert, Scott brought in from the kitchen a birthday cake he’d lovingly made for his mother, from scratch, icing and everything. I have to admit, I was slightly reluctant to ingest something that had been purely made by Scott, but it turned out to be pretty good. I mean, bless his soul, but the boy has never touched a cookbook in his life.

After that, we gave her all of our gifts. My dad and I got her this super-advanced mixer she’d been ranting and raving about for the past two weeks, according to Scott; either she loved it, or she’s a really good liar. The Argents brought her a couple of books she said she found really interesting. I think one of them had something to do with her job.

It’s not long after the presents that people start departing, including my dad, but I decide to stay behind and help with the cleaning up. As soon as it was only me, Scott and Melissa left, she opened her mouth.

“My God, that girl was a nervous wreck!” Straight to the point. That’s why I love her.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anybody be more tense, and I’ve watched my parents’ wedding video! My dad trying to dance does not even begin to compare to her,” I say while transferring piles of plates. I think Scott asks me to show him the video but the squeaking of the swinging kitchen door covers up his voice. As I’m emptying dishes into the plastic bag, alone in the kitchen, I once again become aware of the reason I never get tired of Ms. McCall’s company: she’s really just a kid. And not in that way all adults are children, deep down. Somehow, every time she opens her mouth to say something, she feels as if she’s just part of our group of friends.

I wish I’ll be like that when I grow up. I don’t want to be a parent who’s just a parent. A grown-up, responsible, parent who’s emotionally involved in their children’s lives, but never lets it show. Kind of like Allison’s mom. You can tell she loves her daughter, and she’s always there to guide her and all that, but that’s it. She’s Allison’s mother, but not her friend. I think it’s important to be both, even if it takes some extra effort. I’ve learned the hard way that family’s worth that effort, and you should give it while you can.

“You don’t know that!” Melissa whines while she barges in, closely followed by Scott.

“Yes, I do!” he counters. He then turns to me with his desperate look. “Stiles, tell her it’s not a good idea to take Allison out for coffee.”

“What? Why?” I ask. I’m already siding with Scott on this one.

“Well, she seems incredibly nervous around me and I don’t think she should! So, maybe if we spent some time together she would see how nice I am and that there’s no reason to be so tense,” she complains defensively.

“But, mom, she already knows that! Don’t you see her whenever she comes over, don’t you remember how relaxed she looks? The problem was her own parents!”

“Well, they are kind of strict, from what I hear,” I provide to the conversation. I’m on the fence with this one, now, so I try to stay neutral. On the one hand, Melissa and Allison out for coffee sounds terribly mortifying, but on the other hand, I can’t really suggest any alternative, on a whim at least.

“Oh, that doesn’t matter…” she decides while waving her hand around dismissively. “No matter now strict her parents are, and no matter how strict their own parents were, we all know how awkward it can be for your boyfriend’s or girlfriend’s parents to meet your own, because we’ve all been through it. I’m sure they understand perfectly well, it’s just that Allison is blowing it up out of proportion in her head.”

“Then there’s not really much reason for you to get involved!” Scott desperately says in a high pitch. I have to admit, it’s a valid conclusion. “Just leave it up to me!”

“Fine,” she grunts begrudgingly, while rinsing things off and shoving them into the dishwasher. “Only because I trust that you’ll take care of this. It’s not right for her to be walking around thinking that her parents—“

“Mom, I will do it,” Scott says firmly in a tone that screams ‘End of conversation’. God, I hate it when things between kids and parents get a little feisty and you’re stuck in the middle, trying to figure out what the hell to say or do or think.

“At least she didn’t drop any of your food, everything you made was fantastic!” I try to change the subject.

“That’s a very weird compliment, Stiles, but thank you…”

“You’re most certainly welcome.” And it’s quiet, but the awkward kind. So naturally, I start talking. “We should have come here sooner, my and my dad could have helped you with cooking all of this.”

“Oh, don’t bother about that, I had plenty of help from Scott!”

I raise an eyebrow at him. “You cooked?”

“Hey, I can cook!” he exclaims defensively as he waves a plate.

“No, you can’t,” his mom laughs.

“Scott, you know I’m your friend, so I’m just going to tell you the truth: I’m worried doing anything to an egg would be too much of a challenge for you.”

He pulls his sourpuss face and gets back to throwing out non-salvageable leftovers. We continue the process of trying to restore the house to its pre-lunch condition while we wittily and jokingly exchange remarks like these; hiding an insult in a compliment, some times better than others. If I had to choose the one quality in Ms. McCall that I appreciate so much—and I’m sure I’ve already said this a million times before, and I’ll say it a million again—is how she is literally almost one of the group. Other parents just don’t have it in them, they try too hard and end up embarrassing their child.

My mother used to be like her, too. Fun to be around, even to teenagers. Not as much as Ms. McCall, but still. And my dad too, he used to be practically 17; not as much now, though, that she’s not around.

I would have liked to meet my parents as somebody else. Especially as a teenager, now. Or as their coworkers, that’d be even better. See the kind of people they really are, without the cheerful and unintentionally condescending masks adults put on when they meet kids. But I guess all parents do that up to a certain point. Scott’s parents dropped the act when they had to admit the harsh truth to each other and to themselves and to their own son: they were splitting up. Mine stopped pretending right about when mom was admitted into the hospital. I don’t know if I would have kept it going up until then. But I guess it’d be almost impossible for me to see it from their point of view, ever, so I can’t really judge them for that.

I don’t know if I would want to have known sooner. What good would it have done? When I found out, I was furious for being kept in the dark, but now, I realise how delicate the situation was, and maybe it was a mistake on their part, maybe it wasn’t, but either way it was wrong of me to expect them to navigate it perfectly. It was just… a delicate situation. To be honest, it didn’t really matter in the end. The way it turned out put everybody’s previous actions into perspective.

That’s the thing about a very horrible thing. It stops you from blaming others, from fighting and stubbornly and self-destructively distancing yourself from those around you. It brings people together. A mountain of grief has a few pebbles of goodness in it.

“Stiles?” Ms. McCall calls me soothingly.

“Hmm?”

“Penny for your thoughts?”

I stare at her for a second. Scott is not in the kitchen anymore. I’ve blanked out.

“Oh, it’s…nothing. Not really worth a penny,” I laugh. Will she buy it?

“You sure?” She’s genuinely curious.

“Yeah.” I pull out my best fake smile.

“If you say so.”

I decide that I want to leave. I don’t want to say that I need to leave, because I don’t. I want to leave and I know it would do me good to be here around friends but, damn it, I feel like being selfish. I wish Melissa a very happy birthday, and when she tells that Scott’s in the bathroom I don’t wait for him to finish. I say ‘My pleasure’ when she thanks me for my help and I leave. I take my car and drive down the road, not really knowing where to go. No, that’s a lie. I’m going home. I want to go home and shove myself in my room and shove the world out. That’s another lie. I need to do that.

I clumsily park the Jeep, barely missing the garage wall, barge into the kitchen, slamming the door behind me, and my dad is standing in the doorway to the living room. He sees me like this, gasping and crying and falling apart and the worst thing, it’s not the first time. I stand there, thinking about everything all at once, hating my mind for turning on me like this, coughing from my irregular breathing.

My dad comes over and takes me to the sofa. He holds me until I calm down. It takes about fifteen minutes, which is not too bad for my standards. It used to take about half an hour right back when the wound was fresh.

I hate doing this to myself, and I hate doing this to my dad. I hate that he doesn’t get to fall apart, but I always burden him with picking up my pieces and sticking them back together.

*

It’s about four o’clock now, and I’m starting to feel better. I’ve already had an extremely long shower and lied on my bed in my dark room for what has felt like forever but what probably was not even a couple of hours.

There comes a point after a panic attack when you feel ready to emerge back into society, not because you feel ready to conquer the world or anything, but because you’ve let out enough grief to exit the house and sustain some more. Sometimes it comes very soon. Sometimes it takes much too long. It’s here.

I open my door and walk out. I go to the kitchen.

“I’ll call you later,” my dad hurriedly says to the phone and hangs up. “Feeling better?” he asks me. He knows by now, there’s not point to being all peppy and cheerful after I return from my ritual mini-hibernation. If anything, it has the opposite effect than the intended.

“Kind of, yeah,” I admit. I’m honest. I still feel pretty shit, but I’m definitely on a road back to normal. I start making myself a cup of coffee. So far, Sunday gets two thumbs-down from me. I sit at the kitchen table across from him.

“What do you want to do now?” By this point, he’s learned that I don’t like talking about it, or that there’s not really much point to talking about it. 

“I don’t know. I think…” I almost say I want to go find Scott, but I don’t want to. He’s probably with his mother. So I spend some time with my dad.

I kind of judge myself for a second, for having chosen my father only as a last resort. There were times when he was the first person I would turn to whenever something terrible happened to me. However, I suppose that was only so because nobody else knew about the terrible things that happened to me.

We talk lightly about the lunch, and I mean very lightly. Barely two minutes’ worth. He asks me what I did last night. I tell him the truth about my date. He’s very interested, but he’s playing it down and I can tell. I give him the details anyway, because I know he’s dying to ask me. After all, he’s my dad. Why should he not know? I tell my dad everything. I get jealous of kids that have everything and appreciate nothing all at—

No. I’m not going down that road again.

When it gets quiet, I decide to remove myself from the room and call Allison. I remind myself to start making some more friends when I start feeling better, and I bring up my calls. Then, I see Danny’s name.

I call him. The line is ringing.

Why am I doing this? He doesn’t need to hear about my big bag of reasons to not be friends with me, not this soon. I can’t talk to him about this, I can’t expect him to sit there and listen to my troubles when I barely know him. I don’t even know if I can trust him.

It’s still ringing.

Maybe I felt some sense of security yesterday, or I felt wanted and appreciated. Maybe that’s what I’m expecting to get out of this, too. I know that I’ll probably seem so clingy and desperate and… I just really need his comfort.

Seconds before he picks up, I figure it out: with him, last night, I was ecstatic. Today, I had a fucking meltdown, without him. Ergo, in my mind, Danny equals contentedness, so my first instinct when I see his number is to hit the call button.

“Hello? Stiles?” Danny answers with genuine curiosity.

“Hey, Danny,” I groan. I’m already regretting this call. Why did I do it? I know why. Why didn’t I stop myself? “What’s up?”

“Uh, not much since less than twelve hours ago,” he laughs. He’s so fucking nice. More importantly, too nice for me.

“Listen, I know this is going to sound really weird and clingy and stuff,” I begin awkwardly and yet truthfully, “but are you free to hang out? Like, now?”

There’s silence for a few seconds.

“Stiles? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Are you sure? You sound… troubled.”

“No, I’m good.”

Some more silence.

“Alright, well, do you want to come over to my house? Do you know where it is?”

“Yeah, thanks, I’ll be right over,” I finally exhale. I hope my desperation wasn’t too obvious in my voice, but I really have to do this. This is what always happens. I can’t be alone whenever I get over an attack, I need my friends. And since my best friend and his mother are the origin of my attack, I have to opt for the next best thing.

So I get in my car and drive to Danny’s.


	7. Comfort

“Hey, come in.”

Danny opens the door as soon as I knock and steps aside to let me in. I awkwardly thank him for having me on such short notice. Soon enough, I realise I’ve passed this house so many times before, but have not been inside once. I don’t know why, but it suits Danny like a glove. It’s cozy, warm and inviting.

I follow him into the kitchen where he’d been sitting; doing some homework apparently, and I take a seat. He brings me a fresh cup of coffee and refills his own before he sits down opposite me.

“Did I interrupt you with that?” I ask, gesturing at his chemistry textbook.

“No, no don’t worry about it. I was expecting some company pretty soon, anyway.” Should I leave by then? Would it be awkward if I stuck around? I don’t want to force him to have to introduce me as his boyfriend or as his friend or whatever else, because then it’s just going to be weird.

“So, what’s wrong?” he asks.

“What? Nothing. Why does something have to be wrong?”

“Stiles, I can tell something’s up.” He doesn’t actually utter the words ‘Cut the crap,’ but his expression does.

I sigh heavily to buy myself some time. Should I tell him? He’ll freak out. He’ll think I’m some sort of weirdo. I can make something up. I can tell him I had a huge fight with Scott, or something. But he can easily find out that that’s a lie. I need more time.

“Right, well, when I tell you, don’t judge me, or think that I’m a loser or anything, okay? I didn’t really want to burden you with this, all I wanted was some company.”

“Stiles, what’s going on? I’m starting to get worried here,” he says quickly. The concern is twisting his face into an expression somewhere between fear and reserve.

Fuck it.

“So, you know about my mom’s… You know, right?” I begin clumsily.

“Of course, yeah,” he almost whispers and nods.

“Well,” I go on, trying to phrase this the way I want it to sound, “today I was with Scott and his mom, and just seeing them together made me feel like absolute shit. And I don’t know why, because I love hanging out around Ms. McCall, she’s great fun. I don’t know, I think maybe I got a little jealous and then I let that get to me…” By the time I finish I can actually hear myself sound like a greedy, miserable, downtrodden child. 

“Oh, Stiles!” he exclaims and reaches around the corner of the table to hold me. He buries his face into my shoulder, against the side of my neck and I wish that everybody gave hugs like that. It’s much more of a response that I was expecting to get. I was waiting for a pat on the shoulder and a half-smirk, or something. When he pulls back, judging from the look on his face, he feels worse than I do.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I could have come over and—“

“Danny, it’s fine!” I chuckle. Not because I’m happy, but because I’m astounded at his display of care. “Seven and a half minutes of driving won’t kill me.”

“But you said—“

“I know, but… I mean, I totally appreciate it but I didn’t think you would be so worried if I told you! Besides, all of this was hours ago. The worst thing I could say about me right now is that I’m kind of bummed out.”

“Okay…” he mutters thoughtfully, as if he’s trying to decide whether or not to believe me. “Well, it’s good that you told me anyway. You should tell people these things.”

“Right, well, I can’t just go running around town, telling people I had a meltdown over watching my friend wash a couple of freaking dishes with his mom.”

“If it’s serious enough that you would call it a meltdown, then you should actually have a go-to person for this stuff.”

I look at my hands thoughtfully. “I usually just go home and lay down for a few hours, maybe have a shower before or after.” Why am I describing these things in such detail? Maybe I needed more than just company after all. “Then I find Scott and we hang out and it always makes me feel better. But I couldn’t do that this time because it’s him and his mom that got me started in the first place.”

I’m very careful about using the words ‘panic attack’, and I’m very much aware that he’s already probably guessing at them.

However, my awareness is quickly dimmed due to his leaning in and softly as ever, pressing his mouth against mine and kissing me as if he’s kissing a newborn baby’s forehead. He pulls back and looks at me in the eyes. I’m swimming in his.

“Should I not have done that?”

“You should have done that sooner.”

He smiles heartily and puts his hand over mine.

“I’m glad that you’re telling me these things,” he says honestly. “Even though you barely know me and should not really trust me with these intimate details,” he jokes.

“Hey, I know you. We used to talk back when I was on the lacrosse team.”

“Actually you tried to talk to me because you were getting bored sitting on the bench, but I was too busy playing to reply.”

“Ouch!” He smiles even wider. And just like that, it all goes shooting out of my mind, all the racing thoughts and the tight chest and the irregular breathing are something that do not even begin to compare to the unstoppable force that is the fire Danny Mahealani inspires within me. His kiss is somehow going to my head and I’m still swimming; I go in for more. 

He stops me with a light finger.

“Is there anything else you want to say?” he asks. I can’t read his eyes.

“No,” I reply honestly, but it feels like I’m lying. I want to say more, I want to confess something, there’s a little thought at the back of my head nagging me but I can’t quite get what it is. How can I tell him when even I don’t know what it is that I want to say, anyway?

He raises his eyebrows as if to question my certainty.

“I’m sure,” I reassure him. I’m not.

He kisses me again, and it takes longer this time for him to pull away and look down like a flustered schoolgirl and smile warmly enough to set my heart on flames.

He gets up to refill our coffees; apparently I’ve completely drained mine. I must have been really nervous.

“By the way, are you feeling any—“ he begins, but is abruptly interrupted by the doorbell ringing.

“Should I leave? Is it going to be awkward?” I ask him outright, in a last attempt to get out of there before I have to endure socialising.

“No!” he exclaims as if I’ve just uttered the most absurd notion he’s ever heard. “Derek’s a pretty cool guy, you should be fine.”

Derek? As in Derek Hale?

Danny soon returns with Hale trailing behind him. Oh boy.

*

Awkward. That’s what the introductions are. Because we already know each other. But we don’t really, we just know each others’ names; at least I know his name, why would he even know who I am? Just because we talked a little bit at his party? He might have been drunk which would cause him to not at all remember me which leaves me knowing him without him knowing me and now I’m just some pathetic kid desperate for friends who knows everybody’s name, hoping that they know him too! And I don’t know what to do with myself. 

Awkward.

“So, I didn’t know you two hung out,” he announces as he walks to the cabinet to get himself a glass of water. Okay, good, we’re past the weird standing-there-acknowledging-each-other-not-moving-passionately-nodding part. 

“Uh, we only recently met, officially,” Danny explains while taking our empty cups to the sink. I stand back and look at them move through the kitchen in perfect coordination, opening cabinets, rinsing things, pouring water, reaching for a towel. I could not be more unnecessary: they’re like a married couple and I’m the third wheel who can’t get a date for himself.

“At your party, actually,” I provide.

“Oh, did you guys have fun?” Derek asks with a genuine smile. Well, at least he’s nice.

Danny and I both reassure him of the fun we had at his party. From there on out, I don’t have much to add to the conversation except a few lame jokes and puns here and there that earn me nothing but pity laughs. I don’t feel sorry for myself, I should have left before Derek got here. I knew somebody was going to come, and I stayed. This is on me. The awkward is on me.

I almost tell them that Scott is planning a party himself, but I decide against it. He’s been so excited about it, he barely talks about anything else, but whenever anybody besides Allison or myself approaches he stops talking about. So, for some weird reason, I can only assume that he’s trying to keep it under wraps until it’s time to actually invite everybody.

About half an hour passes before I become utterly insignificant once the conversation goes on to lacrosse. I wish I’d watched some games recently so I’d know at least something about a few teams, but no. I can notice Danny sometimes trying to direct the topic back to something to which I can contribute, but it’s a no go. Derek is really going on and on about lacrosse. It’s actually kind of endearing, how passionate he gets. And yet, somehow, he’s the complete opposite of the stereotype high school jock-head.

Finally, as I’m getting ready to announce that I’m taking off, Danny utters the ill-fated words, “I’m going to use the bathroom for a second.”

Someone get me an oxygen tank.

What the hell does Danny expect me to say to Derek? What the hell does Derek expect me to say? Why is this happening? I can’t form thoughts. Welcome to the mind of a hyperactive teenager.

“So, I heard you were on the team as well, up until some point,” he begins vaguely once we’re alone together.

“Uh, yeah, I was, but I quit,” I say. I try to make it sound low-pitched, like I’m not so excited to keep the conversation going but it sounds like I have something stuck in my throat.

“Can I ask why?”

“Ah, I just never got along with the coach. Plus, I had some personal things going on,” I mutter. I translate that as, “I had to go to a therapist because my panic attacks were getting out of control.” Thankfully, he only sees it as, “Please don’t ask about any specific details.”

“Good things, or bad things?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Bad, mostly.” Or entirely.

“Are they over?” he winces.

“Mostly, yes.”

He nods slowly once, like he completely understands. Does he?

“So, how do you know Danny?” he moves on.

“We talked at your party, and we went out last night.”

“Went out? As in, on a date?” he questions with raised eyebrows. Shit. Should I not have said that?

Danny walks back into the kitchen and we stop talking.

“What just happened in here?” he laughs. “You two look so weird, like you were trash-talking me and—were you?” he abruptly asks with an expression which is meant to be comical but is more believable than most.

“Stiles was actually telling me about how you two know each other,” Derek says very calmly.

“And what did Stiles say?” Danny goes on with an interested smile, bordering on mischievous.

“He said you met at my party and that you had yourselves a little date night yesterday!”

“Did he now?”

What? Shit, I have no idea. Is he joking? Did I just mess everything up? Damn it, how do I always end up talking myself into trouble? I need to learn to keep my big mouth shut, that’s what. Danny probably didn’t even want to tell anybody before he knew that we were actually going to be something and who blames him, because, let’s be real: me and Danny? There’s no reason to go around, telling everybody and getting our hopes up from day one.

“He did. And, Danny, if I may say, it’s about fucking time. You’ve spent enough time staring at Stiles from a distance.”

Pills. I need pills and medication and a lot of it—and some fresh air.

“I’m sure that’s not true…” I half-breathe, half-chuckle.

“Oh, really?” Derek exclaims. Apparently, the topic seems massively interesting to him. Danny, on the other hand, is turning bright red. “I can’t even begin to count the amount of times I was talking to him while he ignored my to stare at you!”

“Okay, that’s enough of that,” he finally stops Derek. He makes short work of the topic, and sooner rather than later we’re talking about something completely different. Not long after that, I give the news of my long-delayed departure. They both seem genuinely pleased that I stayed until I did. Even if they’re faking it, I appreciate the gesture.

I drive myself home and I almost scratch my Jeep and my dad instantly stops worrying when he sees the smile on my face, but all of that, good or bad, does not even begin to compare to the fact that Danny has a crush on me.

I consider shrieking into my pillow, and then I remember that it doesn’t actually work to absorb the noise really well, and that I’m not in a high-school movie. Somehow, this turned out to be one of the best and worst days I’ve had in a while, all rolled up into one. I mean, it’s not very often that I find out that someone like Danny, an eight, has a crush on me, a solid five.

I spend some time taking it in before I seek out my dad and try and spend some time with him. Between his irregular work hours and the amount of time spend at Scott’s house, we barely see each other on weekdays.

“You seem happier,” he smiles. I do too.


	8. Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, sorry for the late upload, but I completely forgot to upload on Monday! The days leading up to New Year's Eve have been hectic. Enjoy x

Crap. It’s Monday.

I tell myself that it’s the last week before Christmas break as many times as it is necessary to find the courage to get up. One of these days I’m going to have to learn how to manage my sleep schedule. Until then, I can reassure myself that I’ll actually get around to it at some point.

There has never been a good Monday, not for me and not for anyone. The only way a Monday is good is if it’s a holiday. And this one is not.

*

“Jesus, Stiles, how much sleep did you get last night?” is the first thing Scott says to me when he sees me outside our classroom. I flip him off.

“It’s the last week and I’m white-knuckling it.” 

“You’re not the only one,” he replies and nods to somebody behind me. I look and see a girl trying to pick herself up off the floor.

“Did she just walk into her locker?”

“Yup.”

“Well, I’m not that bad!”

“You will be unless you get your shit together.”

*

Not one class goes by which cheers me up. Nothing is fun. Everything is draining. My thoughts revolve around going home to my one true lover: my bed. But then lunch comes around, which kind of cheers me up.

While Scott and I are walking to our table, we walk past what is thought to be the jocks’ table, and we stop for a second for him to greet the lacrosse team. I generally stand by and wait, but this time Danny catches my eye and waves me over, when I realise it’s the first time I’ve seen him all day.

“Hey. What’s up?” I begin and smile warmly as I take a seat next to him. 

“Good. How’s Monday treating you?”

“Horrible!” I grunt and he laughs a little. “I am in desperate need for a break.”

“Oh, come on, there’s barely a week left. You can do it, Stiles, we believe in you,” someone says. I look over to see Derek’s face looking at me expectantly. I give a small giggle and he’s instantly satisfied. I shake my head and smile to myself. I don’t think I’ll ever understand Derek Hale. Half the times he acts like a child and the other half he’s more man than anyone I’ve ever known. But the fact that he’s such a mysterious paradox is what makes you try to understand someone like him in the first place.

I conclude that Danny has weird friends and head to my table.

I quickly find out that Lydia Martin decided to join us today instead of sitting with her boyfriend and the rest of his friends—which, if you ask me, I completely understand. As soon as I sit down, she opens her perfectly-shaped mouth.

“So, Stiles, how was your date with Danny? I hear you two are getting along really well!”

I glare at Allison and Scott.

“We didn’t tell her, I swear,” she begins. “She already knew when she got here.”

I glare some more and, however begrudgingly, I honestly answer her.

“It was great. We got along really well.”

“’Great’?” she whines. “That’s it? Come on, give us some details.”

“That’s kind of private,” I counter, offended. I’m tired and sleepy and hungry, and this girl is completely invading my privacy as if I’ve known her for years. I would have no problem picking a fight right about now, but Allison kicks me underneath the table, and considering the two of them have been friends for some time now, she must be at least somewhat trustworthy.

“We’d run into each other on Saturday afternoon, and afterwards he got my number from Scott. Then, he called me and we went out for dinner that same day, and later we went for coffee, too.”

“Are you guys going to go out again?” she asks more carefully.

“Probably. I mean, we really clicked, so why not?” I reply. I don’t mention what happened on Sunday. Even Scott doesn’t know. Thankfully, we don’t talk about the date any more. I don’t particularly enjoy sharing details about my private life with Lydia Martin, who, according to some girls, is the biggest two-faced skank you can meet in this school. She seems pretty nice, though. Maybe this is just one of her faces. I don’t know; I don’t want to be so heavily predisposed about her, especially so negatively, only because of idle gossip. I decide to keep my distance, but give her the benefit of the doubt. 

The rest of the day goes on without anything worth mentioning happening really. That Isaac kid nodded at me in the hallway—I didn’t think he had it in him to remember my face—but that’s pretty much it. I guess it could have gone a lot worse, considering it was a Monday. 

Oh, I just remembered: I almost fell asleep in class and fell out of my chair because of it and made an ass of myself.

*

“Dad?” I call out as soon as I get home. His car is outside for some reason.

“Yeah!” he replies as he jogs down the stairs.

“How come you’re here?”

“Ah, I just had to grab something and head back to work. You okay?” he asks while trying to shut a briefcase, which I’ve never seen him use. I vaguely remember him getting it for Christmas some year.

“Yeah,” I mutter while ogling the thing.

“Are you sure? You look kind of weird.”

And then I do whatever I always do when I need to get him to stop talking. I know I’m a terrible person, but I have a useful weapon right at my disposal: my huge mouth. It would be a real shame to let it go to waste.

“Dad, honestly, you’ve been trusting me less and less lately, and I think it’s seriously causing some issues in our relationship as father and son. When I tell you I’m fine and you don’t believe me, I can’t do—“

“You’re fine,” he declares and leaves the house.

I head right up to my room and dig up my laptop. I bring it to the kitchen and blast a song that’s been stuck in my head all day while I try and cook myself something because I didn’t eat well at school, but then again, I almost never eat well at school. There was this one time when Scott held an intervention for me and he told me I need to start taking care of my body before it starts deteriorating. It was only him in the room. It was both awkward and hilarious.

I decide on a few strips of bacon, which I would have never done if my dad were in the house. I hate eating stuff I don’t want him eating in front of him almost as much as he hates not eating it because of me. But hey, if he doesn’t start taking care of his body, it’s going to start deteriorating, and I can’t have that.

I serve myself some leftover salad from the fridge just for good measure and shamelessly congratulate myself on being so efficient as I walk up to my room to complete the homework that has to be done for tomorrow. It takes me a long time, but not longer than expected. Only another hour passes when I get a call from Allison.

“Hello?”

“Stiles? Are you busy?”

“That depends.”

“I was with Scott when the coach called the entire team to come to practice, so I’m stuck on the bleachers watching these guys and I’m bored as hell!”

Long story short, I go. What can I say? She’s persuasive. Also, I secretly want to go for personal reasons.

“So how long have you been here?” I grunt as I plop down next to her.

“Half and hour, maybe.” A pause. “Thanks for coming.”

“No problem,” I half-smile while trying to shield my eyes from the ridiculous sun.

“Although, I have to say, you didn’t need much convincing,” she grins suggestively.

“Oh, ha ha, Allison. Why is it so enjoyable for all of you to poke fun at me every chance you get?”

“Trust me, if you were on the other end of it, you’d get it.”

“Why didn’t you take off, anyway?”

“I had to stay. I’m Scott’s ride home.”

Sooner rather than later, my eyes find Danny. It’s kind of hard to miss him, since he’s playing goalie. I have to admit, he’s better than I remember. Player after player goes up to him, throwing practice shots and he catches a solid eighty-five percent of them.

“You know, you’re not exactly making it easy for me to not mess with you when you stare at him like he’s the dreamiest piece of eye-candy you’ve laid your eyes on,” she remarks after a little while. Apparently, I’ve been staring for a couple of minutes now.

“Oh please, if I made a joke every time you and Scott got a little too touchy-feely in public, we’d probably be on a first-name basis, at best.”

She huffs out a small laugh in response. Practice goes on like this for another half of an hour while Allison and I exchange what I like to think of as ‘witty banter’ and rain clouds look threateningly overhead. I almost make a poetic connection, as if it’s not meant for them to be practicing today and the weather is trying to ward them off, but I don’t voice it. When something sounds lame in your own head, you know it’s bad.

However, wouldn’t you know it, it starts pouring not five minutes later and we’re all rushing to our cars or the locker rooms or anywhere that isn’t wet. We go up to the parking lot but we have to split up because my Jeep and Allison’s car are in opposite directions. I finally get in my seat, slam the door and turn up the heating as far as it would go. While I’m patting myself down and turning on the car lights, I see someone stumbling right in front of me. I consider honking at him to get out of the way, but the poor bastard’s in enough misery, standing in the pouring rain, looking for his keys. I decide to wait for him to leave before I pull out of my parking spot.

Good thinking Stiles. Not running people over is always good thinking.

Nonetheless, when said poor bastard is taking forever, I open my door and start yelling.

“Hey, buddy! You’re in the middle of the road!” I shout and immediately slam it shut. Three seconds was enough to soak my entire sleeve.

He stands up straight and looks at my car for a second. I can’t make out his face, but I can tell you that yelling at a guy who would be prepared to stare you down, even when you are in a position to run him over, is not a good idea.

He strides over to my passenger door, and I almost soil myself when he opens it, sits down and closes the door behind him. It’s Derek Hale.

“Hey, Stiles, I’m sorry about that. I just have no idea where my keys are,” he gasps.

“Uh, ok,” I stutter, still too confused for thoughts. I look him up and down and it’s as if he’s just come out of a pool.

“Oh my God! I ruined your car!” he exclaims immediately and the guilt in his face is real. I mean, he really did ruin the seat, but it’s not as if it’s the finest leather in all of Italy.

“It’s alright,” I try to say as nonchalantly as I can. “It was only a matter of time before I spilled something all over it, anyway.”

He stares at me for a few seconds, and I stare right back. What do I say? Did I do something wrong? Should I offer him a ride? No, his car is right in front of us, there’s no point in that. Why isn’t he talking? He looks so guilt-stricken that I’m afraid he’s going to offer me the soul of his first-born as reparations.

And then he laughs.

“Thanks. That’s really nice of you.”

“No problem?”

We sit in quiet for a few more seconds. How do I get him to get out?

“So, is that your car right there?”

“Oh!” he exclaims. “Yeah, sorry, let me just find my keys,” he mumbles and looks in every pocket. Twice.

“Shit,” he says to himself. “I must have left them in my bag in the locker room while I was changing.”

“Well, I can give you a ride home, if you want; and you can come find them when the weather clears up, or something.” Listen to me. A proper good Samaritan.

“Oh, no, no, you don’t have to do that. If you could just drop me off somewhere near the locker room, I can go looking for them.”

“And then, what? Walk back to your car in the rain? Or wait it out in the middle of the school? I’m serious; let me give you a ride. It’s no big deal.”

“But my house keys are in my bag, too. I can’t get in my house.”

“Alright, we’re driving over, and meanwhile you call home and see if there’s somebody there to let you in.”

I surprise myself with my mature, adult decisions and, once more today, mentally pat myself on the shoulder for doing the right thing. Derek tries a few numbers using my phone—because he’s left his own in his bag as well—but it doesn’t look like there’s anybody in.

“Well, do you want to call any one of your friends? I could drive you to their house for now. Or you can come back to my place? You seriously need a hot shower.”

“You would do that?” he asks. We’re at a red light, so I get to look at his puppy-dog eyes, which are cute enough to put Scott’s to shame.

“Sure,” I smile, my attempt at warmth. “It’s your call. Where are we headed?”

“Your place sounds great.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, pls excuse the day-late upload and shortness of work. There has been a health issue. Otherwise, enjoy x

Lord knows I love and appreciate my father, but as soon I pull up to the house I let out a discreet sigh of relief that he’s not home to witness me bring home a wet boy. I would not have been able to take the jokes and the innuendoes.

I get Derek a fresh towel and direct him to the bathroom, after I hand him a plastic bag in which he can put all his dripping clothes. Very soon, I can hear the water running, and if the few wisps of hot steam that occasionally escape from under the door are anything to go by, he really needed a hot shower. I start warming up some water and make myself a cup of tea, but I don’t make one for Derek, because I don’t know if he wants one.

As I’m waiting around for him to finish, I remember that I have no idea what happened with Scott and Allison. I call her up, and she answers almost instantly.

“Hey, Stiles. Are you soaked?”

“Uh, no, not me. What about you guys?”

“We’re pretty much fine. Scott’s in the shower right now, he got a little bit caught up on the field and the rain… Got him. What do you mean ‘not me’?” she asks curiously.

“Well,” I begin hesitantly. “Do you remember Derek Hale? He was right in front of my car when he realised he’d left his keys in the locker room, so he just jumped in and I brought him back to my house until someone can let him into his own place.”

“Are you serious?” she questions me, more amused than anything else.

“Yeah, he’s in the shower right now.” She thinks about something for a second.

“Does he have his bag with him?” she says.

“What? No, why?”

“What do you expect him to wear when he gets out of the shower?”

“I don’t know, I’ll let him borrow a sweater or something. Why?” I reply. I really don’t see the point of this.

“And what about your underwear? Are you going to give him a pair of your own? Isn’t that kind of weird?”

This might be the moment where I realise: I haven’t thought this through.

“Alright, well, he won’t die if he doesn’t wear a pair until he gets home.”

“And go commando in your pants?”

I groan and smack my forehead.

“Shit, I hadn’t thought about this,” I whisper fiercely, as if he will hear me if I speak any louder. “What am I going to give him to wear?”

And then I get an idea.

“Allison, I have to go,” I say haphazardly and hang up. I sprint up the stairs and knock on the bathroom door. The water stops for a second but Derek doesn’t reply. I realise he mustn’t be very sure if he’s heard correctly, so I knock again.

“Stiles?” he calls out.

“Yeah, it’s me! Can I come in?”

“Uh… I guess.”

I open the door and the steam hits me in the face. I couldn’t see Derek even if he wasn’t behind the curtain. I look around and I see the plastic bag on the floor.

“Sorry to barge in, I just wanted to take your clothes and put them in the dryer.”

“What? Yeah, okay.”

I get the feeling that he’s trying to get rid of me, but can you blame him? I grab the bag and run out, closing the door as quickly as possible. I run downstairs and empty the bag into the dryer. A full load takes about 35 minutes to dry, so I’m hoping that a few pieces of clothing will take much less.

*

It’s the most awkward moment that I’m going to have this week, I’m sure of it. And that’s really saying something for me. Soon after I set the dryer to work, Derek calls out my name through the house. I call back and he walks in, wearing the towel. I tell him that it only just started, so it’s bound to take some time. I offer him a cup of tea while he waits, and he accepts. He takes one sugar, and some milk.

On one hand, he seems awfully confident for someone wearing nothing but a rectangular piece of cloth. On the other hand, I would probably be pretty confident myself if my body looked like that. It’s only human if I sneak a peek.

“Do you need anything else? I’m thinking of having a shower, myself. To be honest, the rain got me a little bit too.” To be honest, I’m looking for an excuse to get me out of here more than anything else.

“Sure, no problem,” he smiles warmly. “Stiles?” he calls as I walk out.

“Yep!” It never ends, does it?

“It feels kind of weird asking you this, but can I borrow something of yours instead? Preferably something warmer and longer than the polyester school uniform?” he asks timidly and points to the dryer with his thumb.

“You wore shorts in the middle of December?” I squint.

“The coach caught us off guard! It was the only thing I could grab on short notice!” he blushes. I smile and wave him upstairs to my bedroom. As always, I apologise for the apparently permanent mess, and I give him the baggiest t-shirt and set of sweats that I own, since he seems to be a size bigger than me in every direction, and a pair of my thickest socks.

“I don’t think I have any shoes that’ll fit you, but these might,” I mumble as I think and hand him a pair of ridiculous reindeer slippers my dad got me last year for Christmas. “Don’t judge, my dad gave them to me.”

“What? They don’t light up?” he chuckles as he squeezes the nose of one. I roll my eyes and jokingly push him out of the room.

“I trust that you’d rather wear your own underwear,” I say with some restraint. I’m testing the waters of our newfound friendship.

“Yeah, thanks,” he casually says over his shoulder as he walks down the stairs while holding everything in his arms, careful to not make any large step which would threaten the knot that holds the towel in place.

When I close the bathroom door behind me I sigh in relief yet again.

*

A steaming hot shower is exactly what I need. As the water hits my body my mind completely empties, except for a small nagging thought about the half-naked jock under the same roof as me. Either way, when I walk out of that bathroom door my nerves have totally relaxed. I get dressed just as casually as I expect Derek is dressed by now (i.e. in sweats) and hurry downstairs. I find him in the kitchen patiently waiting and going through an old TV magazine.

“Hey. How are the clothes?” I say.

“Perfect fit,” he smiles. It’s not his usual blinding smile, but not because he’s masking displeasure. It’s just that he doesn’t feel the need to appear so overwhelmingly enthusiastic any more. He’s comfortable.

“Great.” Silence. I take a seat opposite him at the table.

“Do you need anything? Food, or…”

“No, no, thanks, I’m good,” he replies. Silence.

“I used your phone while you were in the shower, I hope you don’t mind. Nobody’s back at my place yet, and the rain isn’t letting up.”

“That’s okay, you can hang out here. There’s nowhere that I’ve got to be, so…”

Silence.

We’re not great at the talking, so I suggest we watch a movie while we wait. He seems pretty pleased about it, so I take him to the DVDs we have stacked under the TV and let him take his pick while I’m in the kitchen making some popcorn. It’s not too long after when he sheepishly pops his head through the kitchen door and holds in his hands the Lord of the Rings trilogy. We decide on a marathon, and damn it, it was the best decision I made all day.

We barely got through a movie and a half, but you have to admit that that’s kind of impressive considering those movies are three hours long and that the rain stopped as I was putting the first one in the DVD player. Had you asked me before today if I ever thought it possible to have so much fun with someone who’s a little bit more than an acquaintance I would have said ‘no’. Not only did Derek impress me with his extensive knowledge on Tolkien’s works (a dork and a jock, what are the odds!) but he was also the exactly appropriate amount of talkative for us to be able to watch the movie without getting bored.

To be honest with you, I really didn’t want him to leave.

“Stiles?”

“Hmm?” I moan through a mouthful of popcorn.

“Would you mind driving me home? It’s getting kind of late, and my parents are both probably home by now.”

“Yeah, sure,” I say and get up, hoping that my disappointment at having to turn off the movie doesn’t show through. I grab my keys from the coffee table while Derek gets his lacrosse uniform and we walk out. We drive to the school pretty quietly and he gets out and grabs his bag. Then, we set course for his house and we move through the ever-darkening city in relative quietness again, except for his giving me some directions every so often. That is, until he makes a comment about Gandalf and we’re at it again, talking about this and that, agreeing and disagreeing, talking like two children bragging about their newest toys.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end, so we reach his house and he jumps out. He says ‘goodnight’ and thanks me for everything I’ve done today, and promises to return my clothes, washed and ironed, as soon as possible.

“And don’t take that DVD out! We’re definitely picking up from where we left off!” he yells behind his back and closes the front door of his house. I drive myself back home mechanically, with the biggest, stupidest smile on my face. I’m passing street lights, restaurants, people, houses, even Danny’s place, but none of it couldn’t mean anything compared to how warm I’m feeling inside. Not only is he my friend, he wants to be one, too. I realise this is kind of sad on my part, being so excited about making a friend, but to feel wanted and appreciated by someone who could have turned around and left at any point during the day, but instead chose my company, that feels pretty damn good and nobody can take that away from me.

*

Of course, any school night wouldn’t be complete without me being unable to sleep at a reasonable hour and staying up way too late, causing myself to internally cry of desperation the next morning. This time, the only thing keeping me up is my guilt. My thoughts of guilt. My emotions of guilt about what I did today.

Why was I so happy to spend time with Derek? He’s just a normal person. Sure, he’s a pretty popular guy, and he obviously had a lot of fun today, which gives rise to an unexplainable sense of proudness, but that’s pretty much all there is to it. Or all that there should be to it. There’s something more there. Something, which shouldn’t be there. Something I feel guilty about. 

My thoughts keep going back to Danny. I passed his house on the way home, and I barely thought about it. I didn’t spare him a second of my thoughts; I was preoccupied with thinking about the time I’d spent with Derek today.

No, this is all in my head. That’s what I tell myself. I’ll wake up and everything will be cleared out and I won’t be confused, and the guilt will be all gone. There will be no thought or emotion to mess with me that a good night’s sleep can’t thwart.

Now, if only I could actually sleep…


	10. Different

The week is slowly paddling on, too slowly for my taste, but it’s getting someplace. Tuesday mornings are not as bad as Monday mornings, but they’re not a massive improvement either. Still, somewhere between my father’s yells and my internalised anguished screams I find the courage and the strength to get up. The usual routine: wash up, have breakfast, brush my teeth, grab my bag, leave. However, to day as I’m walking by the living room a green blinking light catches my eye, and I realise that I’ve left the DVD player on.

Somehow, watching it die down and come back to life repeatedly doesn’t induce the same emotion of contentedness as when I was actually using the machine, with Derek sitting by my side. I’m not thinking about that, I refuse to. It’s not denial; there is just nothing to think about.

I switch it off and walk out the house, slamming the front door. I’m not sure of the point I’m trying to prove by doing that. Or to whom I’m proving it.

*

“Danny! Hey!” I practically shout when I see him in the school parking. He turns around with an almost frightened face—I can’t really blame him—which soon turns into a bright smile. I catch up to him finally, and he surprises me by swinging his arm up and around my shoulders. We’re walking, with his arm around my shoulders. He’s holding me and we’re going through the school parking. So, I guess, he’s not a shy guy, is he?

“Hi! How are you? I didn’t see you much yesterday!”

“I—I was at your lacrosse practice, actually.”

“You were? I had no idea,” he asks calmly.

“Yeah, Allison was there and she told me to come over because she was bored. I wasn’t there for too long anyway: the rain started.”

“Alright, well, we can hang out today,” he announces cheerily before walking off to class and I’m almost twitching of nervousness. God damn it Stiles, get a grip. You’re not doing anything bad.

*

Before I know it, I’m in history class and Lydia is sitting behind me and whispering to me, because apparently, we’re on that level now.

“Maybe you can use concealer. You know, make up is not unmanly, a lot of guys do it,” she says as she gives me a list of all the things I can do in order to make myself look more presentable and get rid of the black circles under my eyes. I don’t have the heart to tell her I couldn’t give any less of a shit and I secretly hope the teacher catches us so I’d have an excuse to find some peace. Going to bed at a reasonable hour is impossible for me, even if I try.

I gaze out the window while the teacher has a conversation with the really pretentious, annoying know-it-all of our class about whether or not Hitler was a psychopath and decide this is prime time for me to consider my conflicting emotions.

On the one hand, I’ve just gone on a first date with Danny, and I really like him and we get on just fine and I think he’s really fantastic. On the other hand, after hanging out with Derek I felt really guilty as if I’d done some horrible deed.

I guess I have to admit to being a little bit physically attracted to Derek. But, I mean, who wouldn’t? It’s perfectly natural for someone who is already in a relationship to be able to acknowledge the attractiveness of other attractive people who happen to attract them. And as a matter of fact, I don’t consider myself to be in a relationship. I only went on one date with Danny, that’s barely a fling. We never said anything about being exclusive. Although, it rarely ends well when people cheat on each other with the excuse that they were never declaredly “exclusive”.

No, Stiles! You didn’t cheat on anybody. Damn it, why do I always have to remind myself that? It’s probably my good conscience kicking in.

Yeah, that’s probably it.

Finally, Lydia has finished talking about my horrid appearance.

*

I stand at the school’s main entrance, overlooking the parking, trying to figure out where in all of hell did I park my damn car. It’s not in my usual spot, or anywhere near it—or anywhere in that entire row, for that matter! I try to remember my surroundings as I exited the Jeep this morning, just to get some clues as to where it might be close to, but it’s a no go.

I’m just about to start pulling out my hair when somebody hugs me from behind.

“Are you hungry? Let’s go have lunch,” Danny says.

It actually works out quite well for me since I am indeed ridiculously hungry, and we can return for my car later when there will be fewer occupants of the parking spaces and I will be able to see it. Theoretically.

While he drives, I notice his iPod is plugged into the car. I grab it from the cup holder and search for a good song. He surprises me with his wide range of genres, but I have to say, he has some good taste in music.

*

Damn it, I love that I can pig out in front of Danny and he doesn’t even judge me. Not only that, he joins in. Having said that, I believe we have to admit that fried chicken is pretty hard to consume without covering your mouth and the area around it in grease.

“So, you were at the lacrosse practice yesterday?” he asks between bites.

“Yeah, I was. Did you get caught in the rain?”

“A little bit, yeah. You?”

“No, not much. Derek got soaked though.”

Danny gives me a look somewhere between disbelief and amusement.

“Since when do you and Derek talk about your day?” he scoffs.

“Actually, I ended up driving him back to my place, because he had gotten stuck out of his car and house, so…” I realise that as I say this, my voice gets quieter and quieter. Now he looks just plain confused.

“How did that even happen?”

I tell him how Derek was standing in front of my car, looking for his keys in his pockets, how he jumped into my car and I told him I could drive him back to his place, how his bag with all his things was in the locker rooms. I skip the part when Derek was naked, for obvious reasons. Not that I don’t trust Danny to be rational and logical, but I don’t think a tiny, little omission like that would hurt anybody too much.

In the midst of eating and omitting, I decide to head to the bathroom. When I get back, Danny tells me that after lacrosse yesterday he’d run to his car and drove straight home. He complains some about the coach, which I find completely understandable. It’s a pretty shitty move on his part to expect the entire team to be at his constant disposal, ready to practice in half-dry field, mainly because he has nothing better to do with his days. 

“I just wish he could just figure things out with his girlfriend and stop taking his frustration out on us,” Danny says nostalgically. Honestly, it does seem far-fetched, but knowing the coach it’s actually very possible that this is indeed what he is doing.

And then, my phone rings. I let it ring but Danny insists that I pick up. My hands are horribly greasy so I set my phone down and attempt to set it to loudspeaker with my knuckle.

“Hello?”

“Stiles? It’s me, Derek.”

“Oh, hey… Derek.” Danny looks up from his paper plate. Why was loudspeaker even invented?

“I can’t really talk right now, but I was going to ask you if you were going to be in today? I want to stop by at some point, return you your clothes.”

“Uh, yeah, I will.”

“Great, thanks. Bye.”

I hang up and Danny raises an eyebrow.

“You and Derek seem pretty close now.”

“Yeah, how about that?” I chuckle nervously.

“Do I even want to know why he has your clothes?” he smiles curiously. Well, at least he doesn’t seem to be assuming we did the dirty and then Derek scurried off in my clothes, so at least that’s something.

“It’s nothing,” I say, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. “I just gave him a change of sweats because his outfit was soaked.”

“Really?” he smiles deviously. “Maybe I should have gotten my outfit soaked, as well.”

I choke on my chicken.

*

“Hey. What’s up?” Derek chirps as soon as I open the door. After he realises what he actually came here to do, he hands me a bag of my clothes with a polite statement.

I’ve only been in the house for about an hour and Derek shows up at my door with his promise of my clean change of sweats folded and placed, neatly ironed, in a plastic bag. Danny dropped me off, when we finally found my car, at the school with a quick hello and no further reference to Derek whatsoever.

“Come in,” I invite, opening the door wider and stepping aside for him to enter. It would be rude of me to just send him off without inviting him inside, wouldn’t it?

Wouldn’t you know it, it’s only fifteen minutes later and we’re both sat in front of the television again, watching Lord of the Rings, with smiles on our faces, popcorn in our laps and nothing on our minds. I’m surprised at his eagerness to continue watching when I make the suggestion, only half-serious, but I am thoroughly pleased by it. Scott sends me a text message at some point, asking me if he can call me but I say no—not without a slight pang of guilt, of course.

I remember this moment. It’s the same as yesterday. A little conversation here and there, when the on-screen dialogue isn’t that important—besides, we know the plot off by heart—some interesting facts about the movie and the characters and each other. Most importantly, moronically smiling my ass off, but what can you do?

Soon enough, the second movie is over and Derek gets up with no hesitation to refill our drinks while I stick the third DVD in. In some strange way, we’ve already become close enough that he knows exactly where everything is in my kitchen, and he can help himself to anything without asking for any sort of direction or permission. I try to think that it’s somehow symbolic, how letting him into my kitchen is not unlike letting him into my life, but it sounds silly and there’s a slight air of a sexual innuendo somewhere and I can’t quite put my finger on it.

A few moments into the third movie, my dad gets home.

“Hello, sir,” Derek says and gets up to shake his hand as soon as he walks in. Manners, manners. They get introduced and I sit by and watch the two adults make some small talk. The only think I find myself capable of doing is picking up the remote control and pressing ‘pause’. Derek soon returns to sit by my side and my dad gives me a knowing, discreet smile as he walks by to go to his room, probably. Just like that, I feel that yet another awkward conversation with my father is imminent.

“Let’s continue,” he says.

*

The next instant, it’s eleven o’clock and the movie’s only just finished. I feel my eyelids drooping but at least I’m glad to see that I’m not alone. Derek yawns and makes a remark about how we lost track of time while I mentally summon the strength of a million hurricanes to get my ass of the couch. I could very easily just pass out right now. Maybe this is my opportunity to start sleeping at a reasonable hour.

Maybe not.

I pretend to care about cleaning up, but Derek joins in, and he doesn’t back down when I urge him to stop, so I have to commit. We quickly get rid of the bulkier pieces of garbage and spend a few more moments chasing after stray pieces of popcorn. He finally washes his hands, grabs his things, and heads for the door. I open it for him, because I have manners too, thank you very much.

Silence walks in through the open door, uninvited. I’m not sure if it’s unwanted as well. Derek and I go blank for a second, only staring at each other and holding that gaze before saying our hurried ‘goodbye’s. Today was different than yesterday.


	11. Changes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, excuse the short chapter, but honestly, it didn't feel right carrying on after that ending. You'll understand when you read it. Happy (or at least not a terrible) Monday x

Wednesday. Hump day. How is it possible to feel that so many things have already occurred by now, while at the same time feeling so tired that it must be at least Thursday?

Get it together Stiles. It’s the last Wednesday before Christmas. 

I need a miracle.

*

I have two classes I share with Danny. During both, I feel like an idiot compared to him. I mean, I already knew he wasn’t having much difficulty during lessons but this boy has me outsmarted at every turn. Maybe he’s one of those child prodigies you hear about, getting doctorates and giving lectures at the age of fifteen. Maybe he’s a little too good for me after all. Maybe I just don’t have enough caffeine in my system.

Having said that, better-at-me Danny is better than no Danny so I appreciate every bit of his company. Especially today, when Scott is not in school because last night, in his words, “it didn’t seem like a bad idea at the time to make a smoothie which was nine parts Nutella and one part bananas and then down the fucker in two gulps.” Needless to say, he spent a considerable amount of time with his head in the toilet bowl.

It’s a very special kind of amusing, seeing people worry about his health when I know how easily Scott rebounds from things like this. He’s… Scott.

Anyway, during one of these two classes I share with Danny, he somehow gets stuck a couple of desks away, so he and I are unable to communicate. That is, until he flicks a piece of folded paper at my desk, over the kid between us, sleeping soundly. I smile to myself and unfold it.

“This is so boring, we’ve already gone over this stuff,” he writes.

“Don’t tell her. Are you going to tell her? Don’t be that kid,” I write back. I toss the paper to him. The teacher is oblivious.

I can practically see the sunlight bouncing off his perfect smile.

“Stiles, I’m not crazy, I’m just bored. Where’s Scott, by the way? I haven’t seen him all day.”

“He didn’t come in. He OD’d on Nutella and he was throwing up all night.”

“Well, that’s a little too much detail, but okay. Are you coming to the game on Friday?”

“Game?” I mouth to him because the paper is full. I put it in my pencil case to throw away later.

“Yeah, we have a lacrosse game,” he writes on a new piece. I give him a thumbs up and he gives me a satisfied nod. Soon after, the bell finally rings and I’m running out of the classroom with tears of joy running down my face. It’s time for lunch and I’m starving. Today might just be the first time in a while that I eat so much at school.

I sit opposite Allison, and once again Lydia joins us. I lost Danny somewhere in the crowd, so it’s just the three of us. I still send him a text because I’m considerate as fuck.

“Oh my gosh that was honestly the longest class I’ve ever had to sit through!” Lydia whines. Normally, I wouldn’t agree with her, but these are tough times. “I cannot understand how her ass could go on and on about crops. Crops! Did you know that during the First World War Russia had a terrible winter and its yield in crops went down by, like, a billion per cent? Neither did I but thankfully Ms. What’s-her-face was kind enough to inform us!”

I laugh because I honestly feel for Lydia, and also because I’m astounded at the fact that I feel for Lydia. Maybe I just need a good night’s sleep and I’ll be back to a minor dislike but general indifference towards her. What if she’s starting to grow on me? What if my humour is starting to rub off on her?

Oh, no. Could we end up being… friends?

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” Allison replies.

Lydia then proceeds to break the matter down to a few basic points, as to why the lesson was, indeed, boring beyond belief. Somewhere around halfway through her monologue, Danny shows up out of nowhere and takes a seat at my left.

“Did I miss something?” he asks while ogling Lydia’s furious rant.

“Lydia’s describing how boring her class is.” He gently shakes his head and chuckles, as if he’s about to say ‘Oh, Lydia,’ and we all laugh and the camera pans out and we’re in a ‘90s sitcom. None of that happens, however. Probably because this is real life; or maybe because Derek comes and sits at my right and the moment is ruined.

“Hi guys,” he chirps and everyone replies with equal enthusiasm, except Lydia—who is still fuming—and Danny, who mutters a sharp ‘Hi’ and gets back to his food.

He looks around for a second. “Where’s Scott?”

I’ve answered this question enough times today, so I let Allison take over. I wonder how many people would wonder where I was if I didn’t show up to school today. How many people would care if they didn’t see me.

“Stiles?” Derek says.

“Yeah.”

“I was going to ask you if you were coming to the lacrosse game on Friday? I’m playing,” he nods encouragingly.

“Uh… Most probably, yes,” I whimper. 

“I’ve already told him,” Danny says to Derek merrily over me. I sit between them, fully aware of the fact something is happening between those two—and not I a good way—and I’m caught in the middle of it. The apprehensiveness hits me like a bus as I swallow a huge gulp of water and I wish that they didn’t pick up on the slight edge of my movements.

“Yeah, only just. Thanks, I’ll be there,” I announce, to break the silence we’ve found ourselves in, while in the middle of the deafeningly crowded school cafeteria. “Let’s hope Scott’s going to be okay by then.”

“Oh, he will,” Allison says while flicking her hand dismissively. “Remember that morning he ate an entire watermelon and his mom thought he was throwing up blood? And by the time he slept it off, he wanted to go to McDonalds.”

We laugh and Lydia pulls her usual face—something between condescending and appalled. She really does it better than anyone else. I don’t blame her, Scott is… There’s a learning curve to understanding him.

“Did he tell you when he lost a bet and I made him eat a jar of mayonnaise, and the first thing he wanted afterwards was a huge Slurpee to wash it down?”

We laugh some more. Thank God that’s over.

*

Finally, the school day’s over, and I’m walking towards freedom when I see Danny in the hallway.

“Danny!” I yelp. He hears me but he doesn’t see me. Thankfully, he stops so I wade through the people and get to him.

“You got a minute?” I ask.

*

“What’s up?” he asks me without a sign of worry, as we stand by my car. He’s parked nearby.

“Can I ask you something?” I say. He squints at me.

“Sure…”

How do I phrase this? “Is something… Uh, going on?” Yes. Excellent. Great work Stiles. Inspirational eloquence.

“Would you care to be more specific?” Danny smiles.

“Nothing, it’s probably nothing,” I stammer, trying to give my thoughts life. “It’s just that… In the cafeteria. You seemed a little weird towards Derek, is all.”

“Are you implying… that something is going on with me and Derek?”

“No!” I yelp with wide eyes and begging hands reaching out for him. “Nothing like that! I only thought that you guys had gotten in a fight or something!”

“Well, no,” Danny sighs with relief and slight worry. “Not that I know of, anyway. I’m sure if he thinks I’ve been kind of aggressive, he’d tell me.”

We each go our separate ways without really saying much else. I’m driving mechanically and I’m thinking, always thinking, about what I could have done better, what I did wrong, what does Danny think of me, did I embarrass myself, do I annoy him, does he want to break up, when a thought strikes me.

Danny and Derek. Derek and Danny. Together. It even sounds nice.

I hadn’t even sat down to think about that possibility before Danny mentioned it, but now that I’m considering it I’m feeling worse and worse about myself. Maybe there had been something between them in the past, maybe not, but the more I compare myself to what Derek could be, there is no way I am giving Danny what he deserves. I’ve seen them together. In the same room, the two of them are like a single being working with a single mind. I know what it is Danny could never hope to get from me, but I don’t know where to find it, how to provide it. As hard as I can try, I’m second best.

He’s traded up. I can’t be what he deserves. But I can help him get that.

I know, I know it’s a huge leap, to assume all of this to be true, I know that it’s a drastic change in mentality, but if I’m going to do this—which I can’t believe I’m even considering—I’m going to have to commit. I’m going to have to see this trough perfectly. I have to set Danny up with Derek, and do it before Danny and I get much more serious.


	12. Fighting

I almost forget, or try to forget, or subconsciously repress the memory of my decision, but I can’t. After what can in no way be characterised as a considerable amount of thought, I have reached the same exact conclusion: Derek and Danny need to happen.

I don’t know why I didn’t see it sooner. Maybe because I wanted Danny for myself. Maybe because I hadn’t seen them interact enough to puzzle it all together. Maybe, as usual, I was being completely oblivious to the facts laid out blatantly before me. In any case, the fact remains that a relationship between the two can be much more productive and healthy and fruitful than any combination involving me.

I have a moment of wavering willpower, where I think to myself ‘To hell with this plan,’ and stay with Danny. But, no. I need to muster the courage to power through. I have to show a strength of spirit stronger than my affection towards him. Hopefully, I’ll manage to keep my objective perspective throughout, and not screw this up. However charming, attractive and just plain hot Danny is, this is happening and nothing I decide can stop it.

Is this logical? I feel guilty. I don’t want to break Danny’s heart, he’s fantastic. Although, how do I expect to break his heart, exactly? It’s not like I’m trying to end a 5-year-long relationship or anything... I still feel guilty. A voice inside me tells me I’m only doing this to chicken out of a serious commitment with Danny. It must be my conscience. I didn’t know I had one of those.

*

Danny tries to hold me around my shoulders as we walk down the school corridor, but I don’t let him. Anyway, there are so many people bumping into us, we wouldn’t last two minutes before having to separate. I ignore his firm bicep grazing the back of my neck, and his sparkling eyes trying to draw a smile from me. I even resist accepting his invitation to go to a movie during the weekend, and that is really saying something, because The Hobbit is still playing.

“Did you get your invitation to Scott’s party?” Danny asks me while sighing, desperate for a decent topic of conversation. Maybe I should start showing at least a little interest in him. I’m borderline rude.

“What?” I frown. I see someone in the distance spilling his water bottle. Thursdays are not that guy’s day.

“His party, next Saturday? He sent us all emails,” he says and hands me his phone, showing me Scott’s email. Friendly tone, as always.

“Oh yeah, he told me about that…” I mumble thoughtfully as I refresh my emails on my phone again and again. “Maybe he didn’t send me one? Or maybe his email is acting up?”

“Don’t worry,” Danny soothes me and grabs my hand. If I pull back now, it’ll be obvious that I’m actively trying to distance myself, because his hand is already tight around mine. I don’t reciprocate. “He’s probably going to invite you in person, if he hasn’t already.”

“Well, he told me about the party, but he never actually invited me,” I ponder. There is no way in hell that Scott would have a party and not invite me. “He probably thinks he’s invited me, in a way,” I conclude. I ignore my worries, and direct my attention towards the matter at hand. Literally. How do you get a guy to let your hand go? He soothes me some more, but I need a more aggressive game plan, it seems.

“So, how about Derek? Is he coming to the party, too?”

Danny frowns. “Uh, probably. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, nothing, he’s just a pretty fun guy, isn’t he? I’d want to see him at the party, wouldn’t you?” Is it working?

“Yeah… I mean, I obviously think so. Do you think he’s a fun guy?” I can tell Danny doesn’t really know how to deal with this information.

“Yeah, I mean, he came over on Monday and Tuesday and we had a movie marathon. You should talk to him about movies, he loves them,” I encourage, realising that I’m a hair’s breadth away from asking Danny to cheat on ne. I’m giving him tips on how to approach Derek. I’m his wingman.

*

“Scott?”

“Oh, hey, I lost you somewhere in the corridor,” Scott beams at me as he closes his locker.

“I heard you sent out invites to your party.”

“Yeah, but only last night. I’m still expecting people to reply. I hope they don’t ignore them,” he thinks aloud while I fall into step beside him.

“Can I talk to you about something?” I ask, completely disregarding the gentle approach method.

“Sure, what’s up?”

“No, something serious.” He looks at me as if he’s seen a ghost. Within seconds we’re outside sitting on a bench where nobody can hear us.

“Tell me.”

“Scott, you didn’t have to drag me out here, it can wait!”

“Tell me.”

“We’re supposed to be in class.”

“Tell me!”

I groan. This was a bad idea. “Look, I just… You know how Danny and I… There’s something starting up between us?” That came out cheesier than I expected.

“Yeah,” he nods interestedly.

“Okay, well, yesterday I thought Danny was being kind of weird towards Derek, and I asked him about it, but he thought I that I thought that something was going between the two of them.” I pause for the look of confusion to evaporate from Scott’s eyes.

“Yeah.”

“And that got me thinking, because I had gone to Danny’s house after your mom’s birthday, and Derek came too, and the two of those together… I swear they’re a match made in heaven.”

“Now that you mention it, they work really well together on the team,” Scott mumbles. His eyes widen infinitely. “You think Danny’s cheating on you with Derek?”

“No, no! It’s just that… The two of them—Derek is a much better boyfriend for Danny that I could be—“

“No, Stiles, stop it. I was sure you were going to pull some kind of bullshit like this! I told Allison and she wouldn’t believe me!” He definitely looks angry, but I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because Allison had a fight over something, or maybe because of my ‘bullshit’. Maybe because he didn’t place a bet with Allison ‘cause he would have won.

“Scott, I haven’t even finished, what are you talking about?” I know exactly what he’s talking about.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. I knew you were going to chicken out of a relationship,” he hisses while pointing an accusatory finger at me, “I just didn’t think you’d do it so early into one.”

“What? How the hell do you know that that’s what I’m doing?” There’s that guilt again.

“Because I know you Stiles. You have major commitment issues. I have no idea why; maybe because you’ve never had a boyfriend so you don’t know what to do with one, or maybe because ever since your mom died you always assume everybody’s going to abandon you. I see the sarcastic way you talk to Allison and everybody else you ever meet, trying to keep them at a distance. The only reason the two of us are so close is because I met you before she passed away!”

When he’s finished, his face is as red as it gets and there’s a little bit of steam coming out of his ears. Maybe not, maybe I’m seeing things. Then again, the tears in my eyes are messing with my vision a little bit. 

“Do you mean that?” I croak.

“Stiles…”

“I have to go to class.”

*

I didn’t go to class. You know where I went? The toilets.

I think I have just about a million and two text messages from Scott, and possibly Allison and Danny. Asking me where I am, if I’m okay. Telling me that the teacher is looking for me. I couldn’t give any less of a shit. Apparently, ever since my mom died I’ve been such a fucking dysfunctional mess, it was only a matter of time before I started skipping classes and getting my ass into trouble.

The nerve! The nerve on Scott to turn his stupid face and tell me that I don’t know what to do with a boyfriend because I’ve never had one? What the hell is that supposed to mean? As if Scott’s some kind of relationship expert! Before Allison came along he was just as alone and inexperienced as I am—and yes I know how pathetic that sounds. God, I just want to punch him in the throat. As if he knows everything. He’s lucky the two of them started talking before she realised the kind of loser he is.

As if he knows for sure that I can’t be doing whatever it is that I’m doing for the reasons I’m saying. As if I’m bound to be satisfying my own selfish fears and restraints. Is it so difficult to believe that I’m actually considering helping Danny and Derek for the sake of helping them? Am I that much of an egoist that it’s unthinkable for me to be doing something because of my own damn selflessness?

The bell rings, and I hear students pouring out into the hallways, much more quickly than I expect. I stand up and look at myself in the mirror. After making myself look presentable, I reenter the normal school routine as if nothing has happened. 

At the end of the corridor I spot Danny and Derek, but they don’t look too happy. I try to get as close as possible without making myself known.

“Look, I don’t want to say anything that’ll piss you off—“

“Well, then, don’t!” Derek interrupts.

“Listen, I just want to get this all out in the open because I don’t want to come back to it two weeks later when we’re fighting about something else,” Danny says, holding back his anger.

“Fighting about something else? You know,” Derek starts while pointing a finger, “before this talk, I would have told you that we never fight about things that aren’t worth it, but now I’m not so sure!” He clearly does not mind making a scene. Why is everything falling apart today?

“I never wanted to start a fight, you’re the one who magically assumed I was implying you were fucking Stiles!”

My knees buckle just a little bit.

“Okay, just to get this all out in the open,” Derek says mockingly, “as absurd as that sounds to you, that’s how crazy it sounds to me that you think you have any reason whatsoever to be annoyed or worried or anything about me and him hanging out! So we spent a lot of time together in the past few days. Big deal. Who the hell said I was trying to steal your fucking boyfriend? Who the hell said I was trying to do anything to you by hanging out with Stiles? I couldn’t give less of a shit, Danny! The world doesn’t revolve around you!”

Derek storms off, and thankfully, not in my direction.

Danny looks, unfortunately, in my direction.

I turn and walk the other way before I even know what I’m doing.


	13. Park

Technically, I’m not alone, but I can’t remember the last time I’ve felt this lonely.

“Stiles?”

“Hmm?”

“Where are you?”

“Dad, I’m sitting right in front of you. We’re having dinner in our home,” I say carefully as if I’m dealing with a mental patient. I figure it’s the closest thing to what I would have normally done. After all, sarcasm is my go-to thing.

“Don’t play dumb, Stiles, you know I hate that.”

“Fine,” I sigh. I could tell him everything. I could tell him that I got in a fight with Scott, and I probably got Danny and Derek in a fight, too. I could tell him all of it, and I could say that out of everybody, the one person to whom I want to say this the most is completely off limits because my ego won’t let me even pick up my phone since I know I won’t stop myself from calling Scott. “Just a little tired. But, hey, it’s the last day before Christmas break tomorrow, so I’ll manage for another day.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah.”

Five minutes later, we’re pretending to each other that we simply cannot afford to wash the dishes tonight, so they will have to wait until the next morning, when my phone vibrates. I wish a million times over that when I hold it up I’m going to see Scott’s name, but instead it’s Derek’s.

“Can you meet me? Anywhere? As soon as possible,” he writes.

*

“What’s going on?” I ask as I sit beside him on a bench in the park. It’s freezing cold, but at least it’s well-lit, and I have a feeling this won’t take very long. I don’t bother acting too energetic, but I’m not quite ready to show all my true colours just yet. Derek looks at his feet and kicks a rock embedded in the ground repeatedly while trying to say something. I don’t know if he’s doing it on purpose, but every time he kicks it, it comes very close to popping out, but it never does. Maybe he doesn’t want to deprive himself of a distraction. I know he’s heard me, and even though he doesn’t really look at me or acknowledge me or even look like he’s thinking of something to say, I keep quiet. He doesn’t look like he’s up for a conversation, and frankly, neither am I.

“I heard you got in a fight with Scott,” he begins, surprising me.

“Wow. Word travels fast in high school,” I groan.

“Yeah, well, the way I understand it, someone in the lacrosse team started spreading the news.”

“It’s probably that Jackson guy.”

“Why?” It’s the first time Derek looks at me tonight. His eyes under the orange light look… Tired.

“I don’t know. He kind of pisses me off.” Derek gives a small twitch of a laugh and goes back to his kicking.

“If it’s any consolation, I got in a fight with Danny, too.”

“To be honest, I saw you.” He looks at me a second time, and I can feel him not looking away. I stare at my outstretched, crossed legs.

“Why didn’t you say anything before now?”

“I didn’t think it was my business.” He begins to stare straight ahead now, pensively.

“Actually, it does kind of involve you.”

“Your fight with Danny?”

“He thinks I’m trying to steal you from him.” I don’t bother trying to look shocked.

“Why?”

“That’s the part I don’t get either. His exact words were, ‘You guys are getting an awful lot close for two people who only met less than a week ago.’”

“He does realise that’s when I met him, too, right? And now we’re dating?”

Derek and I look at each other. Moments later, we break out laughing.

“I don’t know. Maybe he does, maybe he doesn’t… All I know is that this isn’t Danny at all. He’s not thinking logically and I’ve never known him to act like this.”

Then, we look away, and tranquility settles around us. The kind of tranquility, of peace and quietness when you genuinely feel uplifted. When an almost literal weight is lifted off your shoulders and through your fatigue and struggles you see a small, and yet ever-present ray of hope. And not the hope for a perfect tomorrow where every problem is solved and difficulties have evaporated away, but the hope that the same troubles will trouble you, yet you have found someone to be troubled with you.

And is that so much to ask, at the end of the day? A partner in pain?

“Can I ask you why you got in a fight with Scott?”

“Sorry, but no.” A second passes, and it’s enough for a curious thought. “No offence, but—“

“Don’t worry about it,” he says and lifts a hand out of his coat pocket to stop me. He’s wearing gloves. “I totally understand.”

“No, I was going to ask something else,” I say. “But it’s nice to know you totally understand.”

“Shoot,” he smiles warmly.

“Why did you tell me?” I ask bluntly.

“You seemed like the most logical person to talk to about this.”

“Logical? You found it logical to tell a person about a fight you had, about that same person?”

“Who the hell else did you want me to go to?”

“I don’t know, don’t you have any other friends besides Danny?”

“Nobody who would understand as well as you. Nobody I could trust. I’m the new kid, remember?” he says almost melancholically.

“I thought all you jock types were super popular, and stuff.”

“Maybe,” he smiles crookedly, “but very few of us are trustworthy.”

Another curious thought is born, it comes creeping around the corner, sneaking around and looking for satisfaction.

“Just for the record… You weren’t actually… You know,” I mumble.

“What?”

“You know… Trying to steal me from Danny?”

“Hell no! I mean, no offence, it’s not that you’re not cute or anything, but hell no! It’s Danny. I’d never do that to him.”

I allow myself to feel momentarily pleased at the implied compliment.

“Do you remember when… Danny and you and I were all over at his place?”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” I almost begin, but how do you phrase this? “Look, the point is, I was really close to fucking everything up, and Scott called me out on it, but I guess he did it kind of harshly. He’s right about most of what he said, and I hate him for it.” I look at Derek. “That’s how my fight happened.”

“Are you going to tell me any details?”

After a moment, “I don’t know.”

“It doesn’t really look like it mattered, though, because everything got fucked up anyway.”

Derek could not be more right and I could not be more guilty.

“How do we fix this? I don’t like the way things are. How do I fix this?” I break the silence.

“Your problem has a pretty obvious solution, to be honest. Just go up to Scott and admit you were wrong, own up to it.”

“Easier said than done.”

“Everything’s easier said than done.” The poetry of the moment dissipates when I get a text message. It’s Danny.

“Can I call?” he writes.

“Not right now, I’ll call you in 30,” I reply.

“What are you going to do about Danny?” I ask.

“Was that him?” Derek nods at my pocket and I nod. He sighs deeply. “I have no idea. You know, in the moment, I had thought that I’d be mad at him forever I was so angry—I was really screaming in the middle of the hallway—and now it’s hardly been a day and I’m already too tired to keep this shit up. Maybe if I talk to him tomorrow, maybe things will work out.”

“That’s what I keep thinking and hoping too, but then again what—“

“If they don’t?”

*

An hour’s passed since my meeting in the park. I called Danny too, and he didn’t mention anything about his dispute with Derek, which is completely understandable, but he was curious about me and Scott, which is completely understandable. I didn’t let him in on any details as to why the whole mess had occurred—for obvious reasons—but I was too tired to talk much about that. I was too tired to talk much about anything, really. After that, he just talked about random things and I listened and replied in short bursts of amusement and sympathy while lying in the dark and staring at the street light down the street, visible from my bedroom window when I lay at this angle. I guess he picked up on my disinterest in actively partaking in a conversation because he soon asked me if I wanted to go to sleep. I lied and said yes, but it wasn’t anything personal. I just felt… exhausted. Mentally, that is. I’m still laying here because the streetlight is that particular colour: that hue of sunset mixed with lazy afternoons, mixed with comforting childhood memories, and it helps me not think. It’s almost two in the morning when I finally fall asleep.

*

“Are you going to talk to him today?” Danny asks.

“I think I should, yeah,” I reply absentmindedly while scanning the faces in the parking lot, trying to find Scott. I know he’s here, so he’s either outside, or inside.

That’s great. Grade-A detective skills, Stiles. He’s either inside or outside. Beautiful.

Eventually I spot him bobbing along and I make a beeline for the sound of his loud laughter rather than anything else, really. When I get to him, the smiles awkwardly disappear from their faces—Scott and Allison, that is—and I ask her for a moment alone with him. She politely obliges, and Scott’s face is blank. Totally blank; neither angry, nor scared. Not even disappointed. He even has the nerve to look a little bit bored, as if he’s totally expected me to come crawling back for an apology so soon, as if I’ve fallen right into his trap and he has me right where he wants me.

“Stiles,” he begins before I even form my first thought, “before you say anything, you should know that I’m not apologising for anything except the harsh way I talked to you yesterday. Other than that, I stand by my statement.” He’s adamant, but not aggressive. Somehow, even inviting.

“Uh, okay, well, I guess… Sorry for storming off?” I’ve been at a loss for words a little too often recently, and I’m not liking this development.

“No, don’t apologise for anything. You had every right to be pissed at me, I shouldn’t have been so forward.”

This is not going the way I expected. I examine his expression, but it seems genuine.

“Is Allison putting words in your mouth?” I ask him. He laughs as if this is a classic Stiles joke and we move into the school. I look back where Danny is still standing close by and give him a surprised thumbs-up. His face is equally shocked.


	14. Last Day

Honestly, the school day could have gone much, much worse. Actually, it almost passed like a normal day, before everything got messed up. Danny passed me a couple of notes during class, poking jokes at the teacher’s obvious mistakes—honestly, sometimes it feels like we’re the ones doing the teaching, she’s so old and forgetful, even though sometimes I feel bad for laughing—and for a second I don’t remember what the hell went wrong. Of course, I’m very much reminded of the circumstances when Danny doesn’t even think of sitting with the rest of his friends but with me, and Scott, and Allison during lunch. It’s only a little bit out of necessity, but more so than I’d like; the necessity of avoiding the other table where Derek is seated, that is.

At some point during the day, Scott asks me how things are with Danny, and I really don’t know what to tell him. I’ve treated our relationship in a million different ways in the shortest possible range of time that I barely know what’s going on. At first, things were normal, then there was some awkwardness and tension towards which I’ve been completely oblivious, as it seems—causing Derek’s dispute with Danny—and up until yesterday I was completely sure Danny belonged with Derek. Now… Now I’m just plain confused.

I decide to take things one step at a time, and ask questions to which I can actually get answers—simple questions.

Do I want Danny? Yes, I do. Do I want him with Derek? No, not after I did some thinking. As it turns out, Scott was right. Things with Danny were getting kind of official, and I was just trying to keep that from happening. Do I want to keep it up with Danny? Yes, I do.

Does Derek want me?

Either way, the evidence, which allows this question to even be posed, constitutes Danny’s arguments against Derek’s “advances” towards me. Basically, if I have reason enough to wonder this, Danny has reasons enough to worry about it, too. Not to cause a scene in the middle of the school, in my opinion, but worry, yes. However, due to my aforementioned wanting to keep it up with Danny, the answer to this question should be irrelevant to my intentions with the two of them. Until hard evidence makes its way to the surface concerning the topic, my attitude has no reason to change.

So why do I desperately want to know the answer?

*

“Danny?” I ask and touch his shoulder. Between the moment I do so, and the moment he turns around so I can see his face, I have a mini freak-out session, during which I sincerely believe I poked a stranger’s shoulder.

“Hey,” he smiles, and slows down for me, but does not stop walking altogether.

“Are you in a hurry to get somewhere?”

“Uh, class?” he says. To be honest, I was stalling when I asked that. But the inevitable is still just as inevitable three seconds later, so might as well get it over with.

“I know you got in a fight with Derek, but I don’t know why you won’t tell me about it.”

He stops walking.

“Stiles, no offence, but how I deal with my friends is kind of my business,” he says in a manner that doesn’t quite suggest any offence, but isn’t actually inviting.

“Yeah, well, when it affects your mood and the way you treat people—including me, by the way—it becomes kind of my business as well. I just wish you’d tell me how you felt because this is obviously getting to you,” I say. As soon as I do so, I realise that I could have phrased it a little bit better, but it doesn’t really matter, because he simply deadpans, “I should get to class. Meet me here after school,” and walks off.

*

Indeed, we do meet after school, but I don’t worry until that time comes. At least, I tell myself not to worry. His tone and expression and everything else were totally neutral; neither angry, nor sad. Just neutral… So, no reason to worry, right?

“Are you hungry?” he asks. Of course I agree to go to lunch because, when am I not hungry? We agree to drive separately to some thai restaurant that makes a chicken curry sent from the heavens above, we sit down at my favourite table and order our meal.

“Look, about earlier today,” he begins with no hesitation, “you said something, and it got me thinking…”

“Thinking in a good way or in a bad way?” I interrupt him, wincing. I really don’t need to be getting in any fights with Danny, too, now. There’s been enough of that all around since yesterday.

“Well, neither,” he concludes after some thought. “Listen, about me and Derek. The two of us, we’ve been friends for a long time now, but you and I didn’t meet that long ago. I don’t know how to say this without being offensive, so I won’t try to sugarcoat it because I know you’re logical enough to see this from my perspective. The truth of the matter is: I trust him more than you.

“I know him like my brother. Of course, I want to get to know you like something so different, but I know Derek like my brother. I know how he works, and how he thinks, and we’ve had fights much worse than this one.” He stops and gives a frustrated sigh before going on.

“I guess I didn’t tell you anything about it, because it didn’t seem like it was important enough to worry you with it. I trusted Derek and myself to figure things out by ourselves, as we’ve done many times before. Does this make sense?” he asks timidly.

“I think yes…” I reply slowly, and thoughtfully. “Basically, it didn’t seem like a big deal to you, so you didn’t mention it?”

“Yes, exactly,” he nods, pleased with himself. However, I’m not pleased.

“But, to be honest, it didn’t really seem like ‘not a big deal’ when the two of you were going at it in the middle of the school, or when you told me that it was none of my business. It actually seemed like there was quite a lot to worry about.”

“Yeah, I know, and I’m sorry about that one,” he nods apologetically, “but I don’t really think before I speak sometimes.”

“We have that in common,” I smirk. He smiles as he goes on.

“It’s just that… I’m a private person. I don’t know if that’s good enough, but it’s all I’ve got. Talking is not my strong suit.”

I give him a sympathetic look while the waiter brings over our food. It pains me to have the plate sit in front of me, but I have another—particularly nosy—question to make.

“Can I ask you something nosy?” His face almost looks as if he wasn’t expecting a private inquiry after admitting that he’s a private person.

“Okay, go ahead.”

“What were you even fighting about?” 

“Nothing important,” he says while waving his hand dismissively. “It’s just… I heard a rumour and it got me kind of paranoid and I went at him for no good reason, really. I plan on apologising as soon as possible, if it helps your curiosity.”

I smile politely and we get to business with the curry. I guess, if he doesn’t want to tell me, he doesn’t actually have to. It looks like Danny really isn’t as open and inviting as he lets on. I just with I’d known that going into a relationship with him.

*

“So, how’s the limitless free time treating you boys?” Ms. McCall asks us.

“Christmas break has never been more highly anticipated,” I declare while she, Scott and I sit around the living room with cups of coffee in our hands—coffee she promises is purely Colombian, but really tastes like a Starbucks drink. Maybe Colombian coffee isn’t as much as it’s been built up to be. Maybe Starbucks really does serve Colombian coffee, which is why I can’t tell the difference.

“Stiles, will you tell her she’s being totally irrational about next week?” Scott pipes up.

“What’s next week?”

“Scott’s party,” she reminds me.

“My mom wants to stay in the hospital all night, working on Saturday night, because she thinks if she stays here she’s going to get ‘in the way of the party,’” he says mockingly as if she’s not right there, making air quotes and everything.

“Oh, come on Scott, stop being such a crybaby,” she whines and he scoffs at her, but towards my direction and I can’t help but laugh. “Most kids would beg to have their parents out of the way at their parties.”

“But you’re not in the way!”

“Stiles, back me up here,” she says expectantly.

“I really don’t know what to say,” I manage to wheeze through fits of laughter. It’s times like these when I wish I had a relationship like this with my dad. Not that we’re on bad terms, or anything, but it’s just that he wouldn’t make the three of us cups of “Colombian” coffee and start messing around like another teenager. He’d make his joking remark from the next room and get back to his report or his newspaper or whatever else he’s reading all the time.

I remember my own mother, how full of youth she used to be, and I decide to steer clear of the train of though when I can feel another tightening feeling around my chest. Let’s not make a habit of collapsing at the sight of Ms. McCall.

“I get where both of you are coming from, but I can’t be trusted to produce an unbiased verdict, I’m afraid,” I conclude.

“Oh, you’re no use,” she scoffs and rushes off to the kitchen to return with a plate of homemade somethings. They taste good, and the texture feels great, so I don’t ask.

“My friends think you’re a lot of fun,” Scott whines some more. “It’s not going to be a huge party or anything, it’s just a get-together.”

“Fine, I’ll think about it,” she says exasperatedly.

“Mom, I know what ‘I’ll think about it’ means already.”

“Good, then you won’t get your hopes up.”

*

I go back home for a little while, and promise Scott I’ll meet him at the bar for dinner and a drink, maybe, later on tonight. There’s no reason to specify which bar, because there’s only one we go to. The one that serves drinks to minors. You can usually find quite a few kids inside, most of them from my school, looking to get as drunk as possible as quickly as possible. However, especially after a classmate of mine crashed his car and got out of the whole mess with a broken leg and a DUI charge, I promised myself to never, ever, ever drive if I don’t feel up to it. I tell Scott this every single time he wants to go there.

He probably knows the whole speech off by heart by this point, so I just give him the cliff notes in text message form:

“Sure, but that means I’m the d.d. unless it’s like a beer or something because remember that kid who crashed his car.”

Scott doesn’t even bother replying, and I wasn’t expecting him to.

“Stiles?” my dad calls from somewhere. I go find him in the kitchen.

“Yeah?”

“Are you—You look really tired, Stiles, are you sick or something?” he remarks as soon as he sees my face.

“Uh, no, it’s just been a weird couple of days,” I sigh.

“Okay. You’re sure?”

“Yes, father.”

“In that case, are you going out for dinner tonight?”

I look at him and wonder what this might be about. You might think he’s just interested in knowing, but this is the Sheriff we’re talking about. Nothing that comes out of his mouth is without purpose.

“Yes, Scott wants to go out to celebrate Christmas break, or something like that. Why do you ask?” I ask quizzically.

“Oh, nothing, just asking,” he mumbles and continues with his typing on the laptop. I press on several times, but to no avail. I decide there’s no point to prodding him if he won’t spit it out and I go back upstairs. I almost call Danny to find out how his conversation with Derek went today, which I suppose he had, but time won’t allow for that so I sent him a text message and jump in the shower.

I really, really hope things went smoothly.


	15. Park Revisited

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know some of you didn't want me to fuck with everyone's feelings, but I'll have to disappoint. Please leave a review. Did I go overboard with the drama?

I drive to Scott’s house to pick him up, but my phone starts ringing while I’m at a red light. Now, I’m not saying that I’m not one of the best drivers ever, but using my phone while I’m driving makes me kind of uncomfortable. I guess this is the result of all the horror stories my father told me about people not driving the proper way, and crashing their cars and finding a torturous death.

However, it’s Scott calling, so I know it’ll be quick.

“Hey. I’m at a red light,” I blurt out.

“Okay, I was going to ask you if you want to go somewhere else besides the bar?” Scott says.

“What? Why? You were the one who wanted to go there in the first place.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s true, but…”

“Scott, this is weird. Is something going on?”

“No! No, let’s just go there.”

He hangs up the phone without saying goodbye, which I know he hates because whenever I do it to him he calls me back to tell me how much it pisses him off when someone does that, or people don’t say ‘thank you’ or ‘hello’ on the street, or whatever else his finds impossible to bear.

So I know that something is going on. I’ll have to be on the lookout tonight for any hints of that something.

*

When we get to the bar, Scott is being ten times as weird as normally, and I decide to pass it off as Christmas break excitement, although my conscience tells me that it’s a mistake to do so. I try to keep from asking him anymore about it because it’s only going to make him more defensive. 

I decide to focus on the bar instead. The inside is oddly familiar to me, after having spent endless nights in here, either with my dad, or Scott. It almost has a T.G.I. Fridays feel to it, but without the screaming children and the tacky memorabilia burdening the walls. For the most part, the hardwood floors are riddled with small tables, which is where Scott and I are sitting, while the walls are lined with a booth and longer tables. I can recognise a few people from my school here, and maybe there’s even more around the bar, where I can’t see.

“What are you looking at?” Scott asks me.

“Huh?”

“What are you looking at with that face?”

“What face?”

“That dopey-looking face.”

“Screw you,” I say jokingly, laughing a little bit. “I just like it here, is all. Remember when our dads would work late and they would bring us here for dinner every so often?”

“Yeah,” Scott confirms, and he now shares my dopey expression. “I remember that time you almost chugged your dad’s beer ‘cause you thought it was apple juice.”

We share a laugh before ordering our meals. Things are pretty damn great, and even though I can’t pry anything out of Scott as to why he didn’t want to come here, I really can’t tell why he wouldn’t. However a problem arises when my bladder comes dangerously close to bursting and I get up to use the toilet.

On my way to the restrooms, I have to pass around the bar, and wouldn’t you know it Danny was there. Sitting with Isaac. On the same side of the booth. With Danny’s arm around Isaac’s shoulders.

So this is why.

Isaac looks pretty downtrodden, and judging from the empty shot glasses, the disheveled hair and the red eyes, I’d say he was pretty fucking wasted. Danny seems to be much less intoxicated. He’d probably be able to walk a straight line. Or make out with Isaac.

Which he was already doing. Making out with Isaac, I mean.

Either I pissed myself, or my bladder blew up or something, because I suddenly felt no need to use the restroom, but the need to disappear. And in the spirit of disappearing, I turned around and walked back to my table.

“Danny is here!” I hiss to Scott. He looks up with wide eyes but does not respond in any way. “He’s kissing Isaac!”

At this he gulps down his food and drops his fork.

“What? Are you sure?” Scott hisses back.

“Of course, I’m sure!” For a moment so emotionally charged, I can barely think of anything to say. There is a fire of anger swelling up and a torrent of desperation crashing down and I don’t know which one is winning.

“Why?”

“I don’t know Scott, I didn’t ask them! I didn’t want to interrupt the face-sucking!”

“This can’t be true, this is Danny we’re talking about, there’s no way—“ Scott begins with an awkward posture and an awkward chuckle.

“Honestly, I might have said the same thing if I hadn’t seen it with my eyes!”

“What are you going to do?”

“I have no idea!” I say honestly. “I mean, do I go back there and confront him? Do I go back and pretend I didn’t know he was there? Do I just get up and leave and talk to him later about it?”

While I’m considering my options—and keep in mind, I think the torrent of desperation is winning—Scott is biting his lips and fiddling with his sleeve and looking ten different kinds of guilty.

“Stiles, I have to tell you something.”

“What? Are you dating Danny, too?”

“No, it’s… Allison was here before and she saw Danny sitting with Isaac and she told me to not bring you here, because she knew we were coming for dinner.”

“When before?”

“I don’t know, like an hour?”

“Oh, so, they’ve been making out for an hour?”

“No, no. It’s Isaac.”

“What about him?”

“I don’t know if I’m supposed to tell you because it’s really personal,” at which I widen my eyes because who gives a fuck right about now, “but I think his sister got diagnosed with something really bad and Derek brought him here to console him by apparently getting him drunk.”

I look at Scott like he’s proposing the craziest scenario in the universe.

“I don’t think I give a fuck! I mean, don’t get me wrong, I feel for the guy, I know what it’s like to have someone you love get diagnosed with something terrible, but what gives him the right?”

“Yeah, all I’m saying is that he probably feels pretty vulnerable and confused right now, and Danny was there to make him feel better, so he just went for the kiss.”

“How do you know all this?”

“I watch Grey’s Anatomy.” I squint at him.

“I need to get out of here,” I declare and get up to leave. Scott leaves some money on the table and grabs my coat for me, but honestly, I don’t really need it. My skin is on fire and my mind is racing and before I know it my eyes are filled with tears that I refuse to let fall. I wipe them right off my face and give in to Scott’s pleas to put on a jacket.

We go and get in my Jeep, and I start the engine to get the heater going, but it’s like I forgot how to drive. I don’t know what to do with myself and I don’t know how to stop this terrible thing that is happening to me. I feel so helpless and humiliated and I hate Danny for making me feel this way. I also hate myself for crying in front of Scott, who is staring at me stare at nothing.

“This was, like, the least probable thing ever, besides, I don’t know… Getting hit by a meteorite,” I say quietly, almost whining. “This isn’t at all like Danny. Danny’s the nicest guy in school, everybody likes him. Why does he…”

I don’t know what else to say.

“Get out,” Scott instructs me.

“What?”

“I’m driving, and you’re sleeping over tonight and tomorrow and as long as you need. Just switch seats with me.”

*

I don’t sleep much. I can tell Scott is asleep because my cold foot is touching his calf and he would have moved it away had he been awake. I can’t sleep at all, actually. I’m tired, but I can’t sleep, even though that’s exactly what people do when they’re tired, so I guess tired is the wrong word for me. Maybe there isn’t a word for this feeling and I’m kind of glad it doesn’t because I’d bet it would sound like the worst word in the language. If I don’t have the words to define what kind of state I’m in, I have actions, and even though my brain is telling me that my current actions should be driving over to Danny’s house in the middle of the night to do God knows what, I decide a more appropriate action is to try and get myself to sleep.

Which I’m failing.

Scott’s window is above my head, and if I were at my house, I would be looking at the street lamps, but now all I can see as I lay on my side is the cold, lifeless moonlight draped over the bed and the floor. I stick my hand out over the edge of the bed and it makes a shadow on the carpet. I pretend to pinch some of the shapes on the carpet when I realise what I’m doing and I pull my hand back in. I attempt convince myself that this nausea, it will pass. This feeling that is still festering inside me, but has died down since the bar, won’t let me forget its presence. It’s got arms and legs and it’s running around and banging on my ribcage and making a hell of a lot more noise that I would have thought it would be making by now. It’s been hours and the tightness around my throat only went away a little while ago. I close my eyes tightly and a tear that’s been in the making for some time now squeezes out.

I wipe it off and stare at the wall for yet another hour before I sleep, finally.

*

Scott doesn’t know that I’m awake, and I’m guessing that he made it his day’s first task to tell his mother to keep it down because I’m still asleep, because otherwise she’d be making a lot more noise, that woman. I wake up a few times, actually, several minutes each time. Getting up doesn’t feel feasible, however, until the third time, very much around noon, when I stumble into Scott’s bathroom and wash my face and tame my hair and take a look into the mirror while leaning on the sink with both hands. For a day devoid of any plans whatsoever, I sure take a lot more interest in my appearance than most days.

I have dark circles—black, almost—and drooping eyelids. Even though I’ve slept for longer than I thought I would have, it didn’t do much for me. When I open the bedroom door I’m met with an empty hallway, and when I walk down the stairs I’m met with a full living room. Scott and his mother are both dipping some sort of baked good into their morning coffee. A deathly silence falls as I enter the room. It’s not welcome.

“Morning, Stiles. How are you feeling?” Melissa begins. Scott announces that he’s going to pour me a cup of coffee and his mom offers me the Tupperware of the aforementioned baked good, which upon intensive inspection appears to be a cookie. I accept one and bite into it, despite my dry mouth. Scott comes back with my coffee and I down half the cup. I squint at him and nod sideways, to his mother, as discreetly as possible. He nods yes.

So, they both know what happened. I don’t blame him, because I know how Melissa McCall can be when she wants to know something. I trust Scott to have told her to keep it between the three of us. I appreciate her not bringing it up.

“Are you guys doing anything today?” she asks.

“I’m going to go find Danny later,” I decide on the spot. I know that I should do that, to get things cleared out, but I don’t know if I’m going to do it because I want to, or because I should. I don’t know why or when exactly, or even what I’m expecting to get out of it. I don’t know much about anything really, but the one thing I know is that sitting around doing nothing is like setting fire to my skin.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Scott asks me.

“Yes, but don’t. You shouldn’t.”

Melissa puts an arm around my shoulders. They briefly let me know to talk to them whenever I want to talk to someone, and I nod my thanks. Not much else happens before I leave. I realise that my dad hasn’t called or texted or anything, but Scott tells me his mother talked with my dad last night, somehow. He doesn’t tell me if she told him what actually happened, and I don’t ask.

*

“Can you meet me at the park? I want to talk,” I text Danny when I get home. My dad doesn’t display any signs of knowledge of the events last night, besides my impromptu sleeping over at Scott’s, something which he is well used to by now.

“Sure, in 10? Anything wrong?”

“10 is good,” I reply. I don’t check if he asked me if anything wrong is again. I get in my car and head to the park. I get there in seven minutes, and I spot him sitting on the bench Derek and I sat a couple of nights ago.

“Hey. What’s going on?” he begins, slightly worriedly.

“You—“ My voice gets cut off by a lump in my throat. I’m breathing in and out, I count four breaths and still my voice has not returned to me. There is no way to express this and looking at him, I’m not sure that I want to. 

“Stiles, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” he asks, now obviously concerned, and takes a step closer, extending his arm to console me but I move away from his touch.

“Isaac. You and Isaac, last night, I saw you two,” I blurt out in detached phrases. His face immediately slackens into an expression of horror.

“What? How? In the bar?”

“I was there.” He runs a hand over his face and through his hair. He looks at me, but doesn’t speak. I guess I wasn’t expecting such a silent response. Hollywood is the reason I was expecting a dramatic scene in the middle of the park. Or maybe he’s talking but I can’t hear him for the blood pumping in my ears, or my lungs almost hyperventilating. Too long a time passes, and I almost take a breath to speak, but he beats me to it.

“I’m sorry that it happened. I’m sorry that I’m making you feel like this, too. I’m sorry that I can’t undo it.”

“I’m sorry that you can’t undo it, too.”

“Do you want me to explain?”

I decide to reply honestly. “Not really, but I can’t help but wonder.”

“He had a lot of personal stuff going on,” he begins. “I mean serious stuff. The kind of stuff I know you’ve been through, but I won’t go into it because he made me promise to not tell anyone.” He takes a moment to gather his thoughts while taking a sharp, trembling breath. “I took him out to get drunk. It was stupid, but I couldn’t think of anything else to do. He kissed me, and it was only for a moment.”

“It didn’t look very momentary from where I was standing,” I say coldly.

“Okay then maybe it was two moments,” he says exasperatedly. He’s choosing his as if his life is on the balance. “I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t forgive me and broke up with me right now, to be honest,” he concludes after some silence.

“That’s it? You made out with someone else, and that’s all you have to say for yourself?”

“Stiles, what is there to say? What can I say to make you forgive me?” he asks, spreading his arms around and gesturing at the trees, as if I’m going to find his response perched up on branch and go get it for him.

“It’s not that I want you to give the monologue to obliterate all monologues, but damn it, Danny, if this is how much you want to fix this, then why did I bother coming down here? I didn’t ask you here to break up with you, I told you to get your ass here so we could talk about why the fuck you’re running around making out with other people!” I realise I’m yelling, so I tone it down to a hissing volume.

“You’re supposed to be the confident one,” I say. “You’re supposed to be the confident, cool, collected one who knows what he’s doing and not fucking up at the first opportunity!”

“Well, excuse me for making a mistake,” he counters, “and not living up to your god-like, flawless expectation of me. Here’s a news flash for you: you’re not always the damn victim, Stiles. Sometimes you have to own up to your own bullshit.”

“I’m sorry, but from where I’m standing it almost sounds like you’re blaming me for what happened! As if I forced you to stick your tongue down Isaac’s throat in the middle of the bar—which, by the way, is the most frequented bar by everyone in our school, dumbass. I think rule number one of cheating is get the hell out of sight.” The sarcasm has found its way back to my voice.

“I’m not blaming you totally, but you could take a second out of your day to think that poor, downtrodden Stiles has actually done something wrong, too!”

“And what is this thing that I did that is so horrible that you absolutely had to go and kiss him?”

“You’re completely messing with me, Stiles! You don’t want to be with me, and I can tell! I’m not some kind of moron, I can tell you want Derek, and yeah, okay, making out with another guy wasn’t the best solution, but I’m not going to let you walk away thinking this is entirely my fault. You played a role in this bullshit.”

He walks away. I don’t see him for some days after that.


	16. Party No 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, sorry for the late upload, but it's exam season and my schedule is hectic! Enjoy x

As I’ve already mentioned, Danny and I neither meet nor speak for some time after the big fight we had in the park. I feel horrible for a short while, but after that not much grief remains. Scott runs after me, trying to make me feel better while I urge him to stop because I’m no longer sad, but I feel… Frustrated. Not frustrated in the sense that I want to rip my skin off and start screaming at everything and find a solution for every nagging little problem in my life. I’ve come to terms with my frustrations, more or less.

I suppose what I’m trying to say is that everywhere I turn I find a little bit of sadness, a little bit of happiness, a little bit of pain and a little bit of relief. For some people, one outweighs the other and they get to live a life drowned in joy or sorrow or anything else; but the rest of us—and this is the category I have classified myself into—we don’t really get much of a result. As powerful as one emotion is, another usually comes along, sooner or later, and it all cancels out and all we’re left with is an okay feeling that is neither bad nor good; however it is definitely not the magical rush I’ve been brought up to expect to find in life, the kind people find in books and movies and songs. I feel like I’m standing on a very specific point on this Earth towards which all my feelings are thundering, only to meet above my head and clash with each other in a massive explosion of sparks and passion, and instead of being picked up by them and carried away into a world of fulfillment and romanticism, all I get to do is stand there and catch the falling remnants that fall from overhead, only to piece them together into this kind of “okayness”. This is how I feel. Everything inside me is loud and fiery, but also a little too far out of my grasp, and the leftovers are all I have to play with. 

This is the kind of frustration I have felt ever since—to be brutally honest—my mother died. I know it and I have come to know it as an integral part of me. I have come to terms with it by now and I don’t know what exactly it is that has come along to cancel out the sadness and unexplainable guilt that Danny has sprouted within me, but it’s done its job and the “okayness” has, once more, not failed to find me.

Don’t get me wrong though: I don’t feel bad about myself. Okay isn’t good, but it’s not bad either. Maybe I just feel a little bit jealous of those who have had passion thrust upon them, but that is all. 

Anyway, nothing that interesting happens until the day of Scott’s party. I wake up on Saturday with the omnipresent awareness that Danny is invited as well. I’m not exactly loathing that conversation—and God knows it’s coming soon—but I sure as hell know that it won’t be pleasant. I have, however, decided to keep my anger at bay and face said conversation as objectively as possible, whenever its arrival may be.

The first thing I do is check my phone to find a text message from Scott asking me to call him as soon as I wake up.

“Scott? What’s up?” I greet him groggily, still rubbing my eyes open and sitting up in bed.

“Are you seriously still asleep?” is his reply.

“What? It’s not even noon!”

“Whatever, I need your help for the party. Get over here.”

*

I would do anything for Scott. I really would. But having learned that I need to help him prepare the house, which is probably going to involve some lifting and other similar activities, I take my sweet time getting ready. Thankfully, he mostly needs me to drive around town and run him some errands, like pick up food and drinks, which I’m happy to do. When I get back to the house, I find Allison there. Who brought Lydia. Who called over Jackson. Who brought Isaac with him.

I turn to Scott and glare at him fiercely while I stride into the kitchen, clutching stacks of plastic red cups. He follows me.

“What’s with the stare of death?” he asks before the door even closes behind him.

“Did you not see who just walked in?”

“Yeah, Jackson. Lydia asked if she could call him over. Why? Do you not like him?” Scott goes on innocently.

“And did you see who tagged along with Jackson?” I hiss, barely keeping my voice down. Scott replies with a perplexed reaction and pokes his head into the living room. He greets Jackson and Isaac with a twitch of a wave.

“Oh, shit.”

“Did you know he was coming?” I say, pointlessly, because I’ve already figured out the answer.

“No, I had no idea! I only knew about Jackson!”

We stand in silence for a while, only broken by Scott’s anguished grunts while he struggles for helpful words. When he decides he can’t find any, he says, “What are you going to do?” and he almost looks scared of my response. Do I really look that ready for a fight?

“I have no idea. I don’t think I’m going to confront him, or anything,” I decide. Scott’s words have helped more than he knows, because upon thinking about it, I realise how little there is for me to do. Or, to phrase it better, how little there is for me to gain from doing anything. What am I going to do, go up to him and demand an explanation as to why he was kissing Danny? As if his answer is going to be any more comforting than the one Danny himself has kindly offered me.

“No,” I finally conclude. “I’m not going to do anything about it. It was his fault, kissing Danny, but I don’t care about Isaac. If I’m talking to anybody, that’ll be Danny.”

“That reminds me: he’s been asking me if you’re coming tonight.”

I look up at Scott wearily. “Of course I am. What did you tell him? Is he coming?”

“I told him you were coming, and he said he was going to have to get back to me.”

“And?”

“I have no idea. He hasn’t told me yet.”

I sigh and mentally prepare myself for an achingly long night. I almost walk back into the living room.

“Did Isaac know that Derek and I were together? Or are together, or whatever we’re supposed to be?” I question with genuine interest.

“Probably,” Scott shrugs.

“Does he know that I know that they were making out? And about my fight with Danny?”

Scott shrugs again. I walk out and into the living room, where nothing really changes in the atmosphere—I might as well be invisible. On the one hand, that’s good, because it goes to show that Jackson, Lydia and Isaac don’t feel awkward around me, whether they know what happened or not. On the other hand, it shows me how little I matter to them. Not that I wanted to spend the night cuddling with those three, or anything, but it feels nice to be appreciated, at least.

I only have to endure an hour of Lydia bossing everybody around, Allison pretending like Lydia actually acknowledges her suggestions, Isaac sulking in the background like something out of a tween vampire movie, Jackson calling me a loser for no apparent reason, and Scott trying to recall if there’s anything he forgot to buy. After that, the three leave—and I mean Lydia, Jackson and Isaac—to leave the rest of us to apply the finishing touches.

“I never knew a damn house party takes so long to prepare,” Scott groans from some part of the dining room.

“I know, it takes like, five seconds in movies,” Allison calls back.

“Hollywood sucks,” I mutter to myself as I try to figure out how to make punch.

*

That’s all that happens, basically: the passive-aggressive stirring of the punch is the highlight of my afternoon until people start showing up to Scott’s house. People who I don’t know and/or have never spoken to. He’s off greeting them and being a nice guest, and instead of being sociable I decide to spend my night sipping on vodka mixed with unhealthy amounts and combinations of energy drinks. It’s not the best choice on my part, but Danny is here and alcohol seems to be helping with the coping.

The more I drink, the faster time seems to pass. The music is nothing but a pulse in my ears and my head feels warm and fuzzy. I’ve been drunk before, but not in this way. The last time I was drunk, I had the time of my life. This time, my intoxication doesn’t seem to be doing much besides disorientating me and dulling my insecurities and uncertainties. Honestly, I don’t know what I was expecting. I take a seat at the sofa before I realise that Lydia is sitting right next to me.

“Lydia, why are you so grumpy?” I ask blatantly, because why not? After all, she does almost seem to be clawing into her plastic cup.

“Excuse me?” she whines, raising her eyebrows.

“You look so annoyed. Why are you annoyed?”

“Stiles, you’re drunk, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Is it about Jackson hitting on other people?” She furiously tries to shush me down, but her efforts do not succeed in diminishing my pride in having stricken gold. Being drunk is sure making me a hell of a lot more insightful.

“It’s okay,” I reassure her, probably unsuccessfully. “It’s shitty to be cheated on but vodka never leaves you so drink up, trust me,” I advise her in one breath. She looks at me judgingly.

“What would you know, Stiles?” she groans, but follows my advice and sips some of her drink.

“Danny was making out with Isaac and I caught them,” I yell. The volume of my voice is probably not in my best interest. Her eyes widen tenfold and bore holes into my soul.

“Are you serious? When?”

“Ah, I don’t know, a bunch of days ago,” I reply dismissively. Gossip is truly the one and only thing that will get Lydia so heavily interested in anybody but herself.

“Well, what happened? Did you guys break up?” she urges on.

“I don’t know. I mean, we had a big fight and we haven’t talked since so I guess, yes and no.” Her frown conveys her dissatisfaction from my answer. She points across the dining room.

“There’s Danny. Go talk to him. Take him outside and talk, and come back as soon as possible.”

*

“What’s going on, Stiles?” Danny asks exasperatedly as soon as the front door closes behind us. We’re as alone as we can be with a house full of people on the other side of the wall. Frankly, I wish we were inside, where it’s warm and comfortable. I can tell by Danny’s expression and tone and my own damn logic that he does not want to be here. Neither do I.

“I think we have to—we have to talk about what happened between you and me and… Yeah.” I decide my sentence is finished with a firm nod. Danny squints.

“You’re drunk.”

“You’re right.”

Silence.

“I mean—Are we broken up? Are we on a break? What’s going on Danny? This not talking business is really pissing me off. For a while there I stopped being bothered by the whole deal, but I it turns out I am bother by it, so let’s just sort this out, alright?”

“Maybe we should do this another time when—“

“Damn it, Danny, no! Just talk to me!” I almost scream and I don’t think I can hear the pulsing beat of the music for my voice.

“Talk? And say what?” he begs. “Tell you what Stiles? That I made out with Isaac? Or why I made out with Isaac?”

“I don’t know, anything’s better than tiptoeing around each other, pretending there’s nothing going on!” I’m sure that, between the cold and the alcohol, that came out slurred.

“There’s nothing to say, Stiles,” he says tiredly. “I fucked up, and that’s that. The reason’s… Irrelevant.”

“There’s a specific reason, then?”

“What does it matter now? It’s not like it can undo anything.”

“Tell me,” I demand.

“No,” Danny grunts and rolls his eyes.

“I want to know, Danny, it matters to me.” He looks around in frustration and shoves his hands in his pockets, but there’s nobody around to get him out of this mess. I can see it in his eyes: he regrets telling me before he even stops talking.

“It was my stupid way of getting your attention.”

“What?”

“It’s just that—and I’m not placing the blame on you here—but I always felt like you were a little too distant. I don’t know what happened, Stiles. We were fine and then you weren’t talking to me and you hung out with Derek all the time, and then you had a whole fight with Scott so you practically stopped acknowledging me altogether. It’s not your fault, but...”

“But what? You don’t have the balls to say you’re sorry, so you’re blaming me?” I spit.

“What are you talking about?”

“If that’s what you thought, then why didn’t you tell me about it? I’m supposed to be the fucking distant one, not you!”

He looks away and shakes his head.

“I don’t deserve this bullshit,” he mutters with an annoying smile and I want to slap it off his face.

“Oh, but of course! You’re the adorable Danny everybody loves! You’re popular, you’re hot, you’re on the lacrosse team, you’re probably going to get a perfect score on your SATs, and you haven’t gone half a month being single for as long as you can remember! Hell, you can probably do no wrong in your eyes.”

“Hey, I kissed another person,” he says through gritted teeth while pointing a judgmental finger, “and that’s on me. I’m not some narcissistic asshole, I know that that’s on me. But answer me this: why would I do something like that without good reason, knowing it would lead to this?”

I look him up and down. I try to look disappointed, because I am, but I’m sure I’m not pulling it off. “You’re not five years old. Just because you don’t like the way things are, it doesn’t mean you should go around making a fuss until someone gets tired of your whining and grants you your favours. You sit your dumb, spoiled ass down and you talk about it like a mature person.” He looks confused. Maybe this only makes sense in my intoxicated mind. “You’re a fucking baby, and I’m done trying to reason with you. Maybe I really was taking you a little bit for granted there for a few days, but it doesn’t give you the right to fuck me over because your ego was so irreparably damaged. I’m fucking done with this. Don’t talk to me ever again unless you finally grow a pair.”

I storm back inside. I am furious and I feel like I’m on fire and my face is probably completely red. I don’t know if Danny got what I was trying to tell him, but frankly, I’m too pissed to give a shit. You would have thought that between the last time we talked and tonight—after having had some time to think about everything—he would have been able to hold up a mature, logical conversation. Apparently, not. Apparently, when your boyfriend is doing something annoying, you cheat on him to get back at him.

My skin is on fire and my eyes may or may not be full; I can’t tell why my vision is blurry. Either way, I can still see well enough to spot Derek across the room and make a beeline for him.


	17. Endings & Beginnings

“Derek?” I say. I have no idea what I look like and I don’t know if I care but Derek looks slightly amused or threatened.

“Hey, Stiles. Are you having fun?” he chuckles with a mischievous grin on his face. Amused it is, then.

“Yeah. Hey, listen, I need to tell you something, let’s go upstairs,” I instruct him and grab his hand, pulling him after me up the stairs. I don’t know if Danny can see us from anywhere, and I’m not exactly sure why I’m doing this, but with no hesitation I shove him into Scott’s room and close the door behind me.

“What’s up?” he asks just as amusedly, however with a small hint of confusion.

“I think Danny and I broke up,” I declare. The alcohol and the adrenaline are surely turning my face bright red. His shock is evident.

“Are you kidding me?”

“No, not really.”

“When?”

“Just now.”

“But—why? What happened?”

“I caught him making out with Isaac.” Derek’s eyes are practically bulging out of his head.

“How—When—Are you sure?” he stammers.

“Positive.” He stares at me, and then at the wall behind me, and then back to me.

“I guess… I’m sorry?”

“It’s fine,” I lie and wave my hand at him. “He’s kind of a jerk anyways, as it turns out. He was trying to blame it on me, like I was neglecting him and spending too much time with my friends and how he thought that I wanted to be with you instead of him and all that was a good enough excuse for him to cheat,” I say in one breath.

“He thought you wanted me instead of him?” he scoffs.

“I mean, I guess. He said it that day at the park, I think.”

“What? Which day?”

“Nothing, don’t worry about it.” I move closer to him and put my hands around his shoulders. He’s tense for a second, but he returns the hug, albeit reluctantly. I pull away slightly, only enough so I can see his face. His eyes are something between green and blue, shot with hazel streaks and I wonder in the magnificent combination. I try to decipher his looks but I can’t seem to get myself to focus for his lips our lips pressing together.

“Mm, Stiles, maybe we shouldn’t—“ he protests slightly. 

“Why not?” I challenge him, and because I’m scared that he’s about to give me a good answer, I kiss him again with ferocity. Surprisingly, he doesn’t stop me this time. Maybe he’s had a couple of drinks himself, maybe I’m just plain lucky. I like to believe it’s because I’m a damn good kisser.

That’s the last thing I remember from that night.

*

“No, come on…” I groan at the harsh morning sunlight. I’ve had worse hangovers than this one, but the migraine is definitely there. I have no idea where the light is coming from and I look around trying to find its source. I would almost be worried after waking up in a strange bedroom, but a quick, groggy glance tells me this room is anything but strange. I’m in Scott’s bed, which is placed underneath a window. I reach out to find the curtain above my head, and the relief of darkness is instantaneous.

A few hours later, I decide to get up. The migraine has most definitely receded to a low, and yet persistent throb. Scott isn’t in the room. When I pull the covers off myself, I find that I’m wearing surprisingly little: I’m in my underwear. Who the hell undressed me? Did Scott and I sleep in the same bed? I hope he was wearing more than me.

I quickly locate my own clothes and walk downstairs. I meet Scott’s mother, but not him.

“Morning, beautiful,” she teases. I give a half-smile.

“Hey. What time is it?” I ask. I check my pockets for my phone, but it’s not there. I don’t even remember if I had told my dad that I was planning on sleeping over. He’s probably already called Ms. McCall.

“It’s just after noon. Here,” she pats the couch seat next to her. I sit down as she goes into the kitchen and brings me a cup of coffee along with couple of aspirins.

“Why the pills?”

“For your hangover.” I would have pretended that I hadn’t had anything to drink last night, but this is Scott’s mom I’m talking to.

“So, how was the hospital last night?”

Another half an hour goes by with her and I talking, before Scott joins us after his shower. At one point, I go and scour Scott’s room for my phone. I have a missed call from my dad, and two text messages. One from Danny, and one from Derek, so I know today is going to get good and dramatic very quickly.

“I should be heading out,” I declare right before lunch, and head to my own house. I eat with my dad like the good son that I am—even though the sauce on the pasta could use a little more of anything—before even considering to look at my phone. However, even the great Stiles Stilinski succumbs to his curiosity every now and then.

I read Danny’s text first, just to get it out of the way.

“We need to talk again. Calmly and soberly. Meet where?”

That had better not be a dig at me.

*

“This is one long-ass fight,” he smiles sadly. I reciprocate in agreement.

“Sorry about yelling, last night,” I mutter. I don’t feel sorry about what I said, but how I said it. It’s a personal policy of mine: always be aware of how you present your argument. The way you talk can be a total game-changer. Obviously, going in with no plan, and a need for a good scream doesn’t exactly get me the results I would like. 

“Can we get to the point?”

“Definitely.” At least we agree on wanting to get this the hell over with, and in that spirit, Danny begins talking with a heavy sigh.

“Stiles, I think I gave you good enough reason to yell. I actually didn’t get much sleep last night because I kept thinking about what you said. Honestly, regardless of if I felt that you were being unfair towards me, there’s never a good reason to cheat. The only thing I can think of doing is apologise, which I don’t usually do, by the way. So… Sorry.”

I look him up and down, just once. I am amazed to see how much he’s changed overnight. Last night he was just as ready as ever to blame the situation, or at least part of it, on me. Now, here he is, taking full responsibility.

“Apology accepted,” I smile. “And I guess I shouldn’t have ignored you so much,” I add after a little while. I pat myself on the back for being so mature. If Danny can own up to his mistakes, so can I. There’s a moment of quietness before he pipes back up.

“Let’s not go any further with this. I’m tired of this mess, let’s just… Leave it at this?”

“Agreed,” I almost laugh. After a short stare, we move in for a hug in the middle of the parking lot. We pull away, but we’re still standing close to each other. Our smiles disappear soon, only to be replaced by grave expressions, reserved for those whose grief at having reached a very disappointing conclusion can only be outweighed by the replenishing encouragement they receive from establishing a mental connection so strong and deep that they can agree on a common disappointing conclusion after uttering absolutely no words.

“We’re not getting back together, are we?” he asks.

“No, I don’t think so.” It’s not the kind of sadness I was expecting. It’s as if I’ve skipped the four first stages of grief—over our teenage romance—and I’ve gone straight to acceptance. This breakup has been right around the corner for some time now. Or maybe I’ll feel worse later, when I’m not as drained.

“It’s for the best, probably,” he says encouragingly. “To be honest, and try not to take this the wrong way, but I don’t think all this mess would have happened if we were good for each other…”

I don’t know if I agree with this, but I don’t mention anything. As I drive away, I wonder what would have become of our relationship had none of this happened. Would we still be going out? Would it have been better that way? Would the universe have still found a way to break us up before we decided to do so of our own accord?

It doesn’t matter, I decide. Even if it’s satisfying to wonder about what could have been, it’s never actually practical. All I know is what did happen, and what did happen was that Danny became a lesson for me. Don’t they say that? That some people only come into your life to teach you a lesson and then walk away? I’ve always thought that that’s a pretty statement, but it’s confusing as hell when you get attached to the person who’s walking away. More often than you would think, the lesson is coping with their leaving. That’s what they don’t tell you.

*

“So, I’m officially done with Danny,” I announce to Scott and Allison, who I met in a Starbucks.

“What? Why?” she whines.

“I just came from this parking lot somewhere, where he asked me to meet and talk—which, by the way, if you ask me, I found kind of creepy; but that’s besides the point. We talked it out and we decided that patching this mess up isn’t worth it. We both owned up to some stuff and walked away. I mean, I don’t know if it’s going to be awkward seeing him around, or anything, but if he tries to be friendly, then so will I.”

“Shit,” Scott declares, and thinks to himself for some time. “I was really rooting for you two. Are you sure there’s nothing you can do to get back together?”

“I…” I begin, and stop to think. “Probably, yeah, we could try and stick together, but this whole fight was kind of like a wake up call. Danny and I—we couldn’t work together, and we weren’t admitting it to each other.”

“Well, rumour has it you haven’t found much difficulty bouncing back,” Allison muses and Scott stares at her wide-eyed.

“What are you talking about?”

“A lot of people are saying that they saw you pull Derek into Scott’s room last night, and you stayed in there for some time.”

Do I tell them? Should I tell them?

“I just had a huge fight with Danny, and Derek was the first person I saw, and I needed to talk, so… Nothing happened,” I lie. I think it’s best to run everything by Derek before announcing to the world that I made out with another guy; technically while I was still with Danny.

Plus, Derek’s text message on my phone seems kind of urgent.

“Which reminds me,” I say as I get up, “I need to get going. I just thought I should let you guys know. You know, get the rumour mill started.”

After leaving them to finish their drinks and food and under the table foot-flirting I call up Derek.

“Stiles? Finally, why didn’t you answer before?” he demands breathily, as if he’s been running.

“I got caught up with some other stuff, sorry. What’s going on?”

“Just… You were drunk last night, right?”

I decide to go with it. “Yes,” I confirm.

“How much do you remember?”

“Why do you ask?”

He sighs exasperatedly and pauses. “We really, really need to talk. Can you come to my house, like, now?”

“Yeah, sure.” I hang up and head to his house. People should start chipping into my gas money for the Jeep. All this running around town, talking everything out is really not doing wonders for my funds. I need a Kickstarter campaign, or something.

*

“Is everything okay? You sounded really worried over the phone,” I begin with concern plastered across my face as I sit on a kitchen chair, watching him pace back and forth. I don’t think I’ve mentioned this before, but the inside of his house is as beautiful as… Well, him.

“What do you remember from last night?”

After seeing how worried he really is, I cave in and throw the guy a bone. Besides, it’s not like he’s not going to tell me what I supposedly forgot, anyway. “I think I remember kissing?”

He stops pacing and leans on the counter, gripping the sides as his knuckles turn white and his cheeks turn red.

“That’s, uh… True. That happened. And I’m not sure if it should have happened, or not, or what else.”

Stiles, this thing that you’re witnessing, it’s the definition of freaked out, I think to myself. I, on the other hand, am surprisingly nonchalant. Maybe ending it with Danny was a good choice after all.

“Why are you so freaked?” I ask reproachfully. Maybe a gentler adjective might have been more appropriate.

“Because, he’s one of my absolutely best friends, and now I’m the other guy! I’m the other guy in his relationship. My best friend’s boyfriend is cheating on him with me.”

“Whoa, whoa, Derek, calm down!” Only now do I realise how horrible he must feel. “First of all, by last night Danny and I were barely together anymore. I mean, we broke up less than an hour ago, for God’s sake.”

“Yeah, but still, you don’t go around making out with your best friend’s ex! And do you remember—remember last night you said Danny fought with you because he thought that you wanted to be with me instead of him!”

“Yeah, that’s why I was getting to the second of all. As horrible a choice as it might have been, nobody saw us! Nobody has to know.”

Derek looks me dead in the eyes. “You don’t remember?”

“Remember what?”

He sighs and rubs his face. “Lydia walked into Scott’s room and caught us kissing.”

If I could go any paler, the colour would have drained from my face.

“So everybody in the entire world knows, by now,” I decide dejectedly. Derek nods fiercely. We both sit and worry quietly for a few moments.

“I just saw Danny a while ago,” I realise.

“And?”

“And he didn’t say anything about you, and he definitely knew that we kissed. I mean, it’s Lydia we’re talking about.”

“That doesn’t prove anything. What did you expect him to say? ‘Back off Derek, you mine’?”

I feel a familiar mixture of anxiety and guilt stir in my stomach. I am almost literally sick of this.

“I’m tired of this bullshit,” I declare with a newfound fierceness. “It’s time everybody started being upfront about what they feel, and whoever can’t deal with that—well, they’ve got some maturing to do.”

I pick up my phone and call Danny.

“What are you doing?” Derek asks.

“I’m going to ask Danny if he feels bothered by the fact that you and I made out last night.”

“What? Stiles, no!” 

Derek chases me around the house for a few rings before I skid to a stop and put a hand up to indicate that Danny picked up.

“Hi, Danny.”

“Hey, Stiles,” he almost asks.

“This is going to sound weird, but can I ask something?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“You know that Derek and I made out last night, right?”

He doesn’t respond for a while. From the expression on Derek’s face, I’d say he’s on his fourth heart attack.

“Is this a joke?”

“I’m completely serious.”

“Then, I suppose I do, yeah.”

“And are you bothered by it?”

He’s quiet again.

“Honestly, yes. But, logically speaking, I don’t really have a right to be bothered by it. I don’t… I mean, you can see why I wouldn’t like the two of you dating, but I’ll just have to deal with it, I suppose.”

I don’t know if he’s thinking aloud or answering my question.

“Thanks for your honesty, Danny; and the maturity. I really respect that.”

“No problem. Do you need anything else?”

“No, thanks. Sorry for bothering you. See you soon.”

“It’s fine. Bye.”

I can tell that he’s not glad to hear my voice again, especially so soon after the breakup, but doesn’t loathe it either. I know exactly how that feels.

“He said the two of us dating would bother him, but he knows that he can’t really do anything about it except deal with it, and he was really mature and not at all pissed off about it,” I declare to Derek proudly. For the first time ever, I have averted and solved a crisis quickly and cleanly.

“Dating?” Derek blurts. Shit.


	18. Hungover

I look Derek straight in the eyes. The idea that Danny proposes—of Derek and I dating—apparently seems absurd. I, on the other hand, have heard things during the past days which are much more nerve-wracking, and the idea does not even begin to faze me. Also, to be honest, I wouldn’t completely mind it becoming reality, now that I’m newly single after a short and yet massively tiring relationship.

“Dating?” Derek blurts out.

“That’s what he said,” I confirm very carefully.

“Did you tell him we’re dating?”

“You heard what I told him.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t, did you?”

“No.” I’m slightly insulted at how worriedly Derek tries to ensure that nobody is under the impression that he is dating me. He walks into the living room and plops himself down on the couch.

“Then why did he say that?” he asks, tiredly more than anything else, for some reason.

“I don’t know,” I honestly reply as I stroll to stand opposite him. “Maybe he just thought it logical to assume that, since we were making out?”

“Oh, and so will the rest of the school,” he groans and sighs while burying his head in his hands, rubbing his eyes, elbows on his knees. I look at how weary this whole predicament is making him.

“Why do you care so much about what everybody thinks of you?” I ask with genuine curiosity.

“What?”

“I’m serious. Why are so worried about what the people at school are going to hear about you? Beacon Hills is like the mother ship of gossip, aren’t you used to that by now?”

“I’m still the new kid, Stiles, remember? That’s reason enough for people to whisper shit behind my back. Of course, now that I go around at parties, making out with my best friend’s boyfriend, everybody should be thanking me for the endless hours of entertainment I’m providing them.”

“You’re in the lacrosse team,” I remind him. “You’re super popular! Everybody likes you.”

“Everybody likes Danny, actually. And he’s also on the lacrosse team, and he’s also super popular. People aren’t going to be very keen to take my side.”

I look him up and down a couple of times, his concern literally weighing his shoulders down into a slump. I go and sit next to him.

“After middle school, Scott and I went to high school together. He was my best friend, and that was all I needed. Of course, being more sociable than me, he branched out some, but we were each other’s brother, and there was no changing that. After some time—I don’t even remember which year it was by now, maybe freshman year—it got out that my mom had died after suffering terribly from several disorders, psychological and physiological.

“I didn’t think it was going to be much of an issue, but I still didn’t like everybody finding out, basically because that’s really personal and you don’t just get over something like that, maybe ever. Thankfully, most of the kids didn’t even mention it, or they came up to me and they gave me condolences, even if she hadn’t died recently. But, there were some other kids who would mess with me, and yell at me across the hallway, and talk about my mom. I like to think it was kind of like when Dudley teases Harry Potter about his own dead mother.”

The comment earns me a small sympathetic smile.

“Anyway, I couldn’t believe that people could be so nasty as to tease someone about their own dead mother. Still, Scott stood up for me, and eventually those kids got caught, and thank God they got what they deserved because Scott was ready to beat the crap out of them, I swear to you.

“I guess my point is, all you need is someone to stick up for you. Maybe not yell at the people who whisper behind your back, but someone who knows you inside out, who knows exactly when to try and boost your confidence, and who knows when you need some time alone. Just like I had Scott when everyone was trash-talking me.”

Silence. Very long silence. Not even a car passes by outside the house. The world has stopped and we have gotten off and time is waiting for us to get back on. Derek looks from me eyes to my lips, and back to my eyes.

“Why did you kiss me last night?” he says quietly.

“I don’t know if you noticed, but I wasn’t exactly capable of forming a coherent list of the reasons due to which I have officially decided to kiss Derek Hale.” He smiles faintly and shakes his head ever more softly; he’s serious again. It’s like he’s reprimanding himself for bothering to smile, as if he has no time to waste for anything besides trying to achieve the desired target, not even to crack a half-smirk.

“Seriously, though.” My smiles fades as well.

“I don’t know,” I admit hoarsely. “You were the first person that popped into my head I suppose. Plus, I kind of wanted to get back and Danny for pissing me off so much, and I knew he was jealous of you and I spending time together, so…”

“You were trying to make Danny jealous…” Derek realises and nods to himself. He turns away from me and looks ahead. I feel like I’ve said something I shouldn’t have.

“Is that bad?”

“It’s… Understandable.” He takes a moment. “It’s fine,” he concludes and wears a forced smile and looks back to me. I hate to see my presence have such a draining effect on him.

“I really appreciate what you said about just needing a friend to help you feel better about people gossiping, by the way. You don’t know this, but Danny called me before you came here. He apologised for freaking out and thinking that I was trying to steal you from him. He sounded real tired.”

“So, you knew when I told you that I broke up with him?” I ask.

“Yeah, I guess I did.”

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised by that. Gossip travels fast; and by ‘fast’ I mean ‘at the speed of light.’

“Did he say anything else?” I ask, knowing that what I’m asking might not be any of my business.

“He apologised for being a shit friend, and he told me he felt terrible for being a shit boyfriend to you, and he said that the only thing he could do is learn from this whole mess and move on.”

I smile to myself. “You know, I used to think he was totally immature, but I’m beginning to see why everybody likes him so much. He took some persuading, but it takes some balls to own up to everything like that.”

“Yeah, especially when not everything is his fault.”

“If you don’t stop feeling guilty about last night then you’ll never be able to look Danny in the eye,” I warn Derek.

“I know, I know. I wasn’t talking about that.”

“What were you talking about?” I prod curiously.

“Well, you have to admit, you were spending a lot more time with me than with him.”

I look at Derek in shock. “Okay, first of all,” I being, but with a bright smile so he knows that I’m only trying to get laugh out of my speech, “I should be able to spend however much I please with whomever the hell I please. Second of all… Yeah, that’s it.”

Derek grins broadly. “But still, you can see where he’s coming from. I mean, you never even got to third base with him. I was naked in your house.”

“How do you know what base we got to?” I shriek.

“Maybe his phone call wasn’t that short, after all,” he grins mischievously. We both fall back on the couch with deep sighs that come out accompanied by a burst of a high-pitched moan at first: the kind of sigh that feels heavy but sounds light. Our shoulders are touching, and within one minute Derek leans his head onto my shoulder.

“Where the hell are your parents?” I ask after a long, comfortable calmness.

“Mom’s getting her hair done. My dad’s probably gone grocery shopping, or something like that. He always does house chores on Saturday. They won’t be back till the afternoon.”

“Do you want to get some lunch?” I propose.

“No offence, but no. I don’t really feel like going out,” Derek admits.

“Then let’s get take away.”

I can’t see his face, but I can tell it’s brightened up.

*

“Of course I do! Who doesn’t want to be friends with Legolas?” is one of the statements Derek attempts to exclaim between mouthfuls of noodles as we sit at his kitchen table. I would have found it disgusting, but it’s somehow endearing. After we finish our food and throw all the empty packaging away, he drags me up to his room where we sit on his bed—laptop on his lap—and he shows me clips on YouTube of Legolas: the reasons for which anybody would want to be best friends with him.

After we run out of videos to watch, I decide to mention how much I appreciate the music direction and the skill with which it was implemented—which is a complete truth—to get the conversation rolling again, since I take my music very seriously. Apparently, so does Derek.

One way or another, we end up discussing our favourite artists while having some of our favourite songs play on the laptop for each other to hear and judge. I decide that Derek and I, we both listen to different artists but similar kinds of music. That’s why we can both appreciate each other’s taste without necessarily falling in love with it.

Finally, as another hour passes, his mother walks in, followed by his father about half an hour later, both checking on the loud music and conversation coming from their son’s bedroom. Apparently, Derek doesn’t tend to have people over to his house, but he goes over to their houses instead, so the noise is greatly unexpected.

I don’t know what to make of that, exactly. It’s not as if Derek is inhospitable. He’s never tried to get me to leave his house or anything, or to get me to not come in the first place. Maybe he’s embarrassed for his home? No, that can’t be it, his house looks gorgeous. Maybe it’s just that he’s more shy than he lets on, and he doesn’t feel comfortable having people over. I mean, I get that. I never have company over at my house, except Scott, and sometimes Allison.

Somehow, we end up back in that same position. We’re sitting on his bed, our feet over the edge, our backs against the wall, our shoulders touching. It’s quiet. Not as quiet as the last time, not now that his parents are home, but relatively silent.

“Do you know why I feel so guilty?” he asks me, in that same whispering tone, bathed in meaning I just can’t comprehend. The meaning that’s so complicated that only he himself can unravel it for me to understand, but simple enough for me to get that I should shut up and listen to what he’s saying.

“About last night?” He nods.

“I wasn’t drunk, not even a little bit. I kissed you back, and as far as I knew, you and Danny were still together. But… I wasn’t even thinking about Danny, I was thinking about making out with you and I don’t even know if I wouldn’t have gone beyond just making out if Lydia hadn’t walked in. I hate her for spreading it around the school, but thank God for that wake-up call.”

“Oh, please, you would have stopped before anything serious happened,” I reassure him, dismissively even. “You’re a good person, maybe you wanted to do everything you wanted to do because you were caught up in the moment, not because you’re a bad friend.”

“If I weren’t a bad friend, wouldn’t I have stopped way before that?”

“Derek, having… urges like that is completely understandable and part of being an actual human being. You can’t blame yourself for that. Yeah, it would have been best if you had stopped it earlier on, but the fact that you didn’t doesn’t make you a terrible friend, because even if it took you some time, you stopped.” I can see he’s not lightening up, so I test the waters with a mild joke. “And don’t try to tell me that you weren’t drunk, I could taste that vodka in your mouth,” I squint. He smirks somewhat.

“First of all, ew, and second, that vodka was all you, Stiles.”

“Besides,” I go on after indulging a sharp laugh, “he already said he’s fine with it, so we can make out all we want.”

“Yeah, cause that’s going to happen,” he himself laughs and turns to face me. His smile dissolves slowly, like mine, and we’re just staring at each other. I examine his multicoloured eyes with immense interest. They suddenly flick from my mouth to my own eyes.

I lean in.


	19. Choices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's ridiculously short, and I know that it's late but I had to perform in a concert on Sunday and I just finished my mid-years today and I have to study for my driver's test in two days and my music theory exam in four days and I feel like I'm losing my mind from all the stress. If everyone could please understand I promise to have an extra long chapter up next week, and on time! Thank you all x

Derek jerks his head away while I lean in for the kiss. Here’s the thing: when that happens—when someone literally tries to escape your kiss—it sucks, and I mean it sucks. Profoundly. Instead of saying anything, I just frown at Derek, and he, too, looks confused.

Maybe he’s still hesitant, and guilt-ridden. He could still think that this is completely wrong, and it only reminds him of what a terrible friend he is. I don’t blame him for doing what he did. I’m really wishing he didn’t feel guilty, but I understand why he does, even though I consider it to be unnecessary. I’m really wishing that I hadn’t found him at the party, but most of all I’m wishing that I didn’t want to kiss him right now. The remorse on his face is… I just hate to be the cause of that.

I lean back, sitting properly.

“Derek, I’m sorry—“ He interrupts me with a quick, hard kiss. He doesn’t move his head away from mine further than an inch or two.

“Don’t be. There’s no use in being sorry, taking responsibility for something that’s not your fault,” he whispers. I only realise his hand is around the back of my neck as his grip tightens. His eyes look pained and I want to swim in them and calm the troubled currents but I feel a ‘but’ coming so I do nothing and wait. “I don’t know why I want this, too, why I want you; I guess we just fit together… But, Stiles, goddamn it. You’re such a mess.”

“Excuse me?” Well, that ruined the moment. Derek shuts his eyes hard and laughs to himself, as if reprimanding himself.

“What I meant was… Even though after kissing you last night, all I want to do is kiss you… It’s never just that. Being with you means dealing with the awkward moments between me and Danny, and breaking the news to everybody, and taking all the hard stares when we walk together and… That’s the kind of mess I was talking about. Do you get what I’m saying?”

“Yeah.” No. “But I already told you, I’m sticking up for you if shit hits the fan.” That earns me a smile from him.

“How the hell did we end up like this?” he mumbles thoughtfully while he leans away and rests his head against the wall. “One second, Danny and you are together, the next, everybody’s fighting and we’re kissing all the time…” 

“Yeah, high school’ll fuck you right up like that,” I chuckle. We sit in silence for a while, staring at the wall opposite. It’s a light brown colour, and it blends in nicely with Derek’s curtains.

“What are we doing then?” he asks, quietly.

“Hmm?”

“What are we going to do—with us?”

“If you want to… You know, be together,” I begin hesitantly, gesturing with my hands in a way that means ‘together’ in my head, “I’m totally game. If not, I’ll totally understand.”

He exhales heavily. “So, it’s up to me?”

“If it were up to me, we’d be together already, but you’re obviously having some doubts so…”

He nods slowly. We agree to let some time pass, leave Derek to think. I take off eventually, leaving behind me this troubled boy trying to act like a man. Trying to figure out what’s the right thing to do instead of what he wants for himself.

*

“So, basically, he’s back at his place, thinking if he wants to be together or not,” I finish explaining to Allison and Scott. She sips on his milkshake as heavy rain tries to kick in the diner windows.

“Okay,” she nods thoughtfully, “but I still don’t get how the two of you are even on the table. Since when do you two want to be with each other?”

“I guess… We’ve always had a special kind of friendship,” I half-ask. “And it sort of became something more when I made out with him at Scott’s party.”

“You made out?” she blurts in shock.

“Nice try,” I counter. She shrugs sympathetically and Scott rubs her hand. “I know Lydia told everybody.”

“It was worth a try,” she mumbles to Scott and he nods his agreement.

“How is Danny okay with all of this though?” Scott asks me. “I mean, are you completely sure he’s fine?”

“Positive. I wouldn’t even have talked to Derek about a relationship, or asked Danny if it were okay. He just gave me the go-ahead on his own.”

They both think it over for a second. I know exactly how they feel. Somehow, this feels wrong. It feels as it shouldn’t be happening, as if it’s cheating. However, when you sit down to think about it, you can’t find a decent reason to not go for it. And if a gut feeling is the only thing stopping you from what can make you so happy, shouldn’t you just go for it?

“Are you nervous?” she asks finally.

“Not really,” I confess with a sigh. “I mean, I’m obviously not rooting for him to want to stay just friends, but… If he does, I could totally put myself in his shoes. Somehow that makes it better.”

“What do you mean?” Scott asks. “Why does he not want to be with you?”

“Because of Danny. You have to admit, it’s going to be awkward if he chooses to be with me, at least in the beginning.”

* two weeks later *

I’m not sure who, or what woke us up, but Scott and I both jerk awake. Thankfully, class is still going on with nobody noticing our brief daydreaming turning into actual dreaming. But, God, this class is the most boring thing I’ve had to make myself sit through. It’s taking all my energy to keep my eyelids open, and it’s getting to the point where it’s literally physically impossible for me to look alert. And when I say literally, I mean literally.

“How long until the bell rings?” Scott whispers in a plea for mercy. I look at my watch.

“Fifteen minutes.”

He closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath to steel himself. Fifteen minutes is not too long, but it’s not short enough to get you to wake up. Five minutes would do that to you, maybe even ten; because at five minutes you can practically taste the freedom and it’s enough to get you on your feet. But fifteen? Too long to stay alert all the way to the sweet release of the bell ringing.

“What are we going to do until then?” he asks. 

“Roll over and die.”


	20. Any Other Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realised I hadn't warned you beforehand that the end was approaching, and you might find this kind of abrupt. I don't feel like continuing would do justice to the work. Let me know if you feel like there are too many loose ends (i.e. one more chapter is in order).

Sometimes, you can want something with all your heart. You can literally feel the universe dangling your deepest desire in front of your face. And you can also feel it taking it all away from you.

I look down on of the school’s hallways, and I see his face looking back. Somehow, we’ve managed to avoid each other all week. Friday is here and it’s the second time I’ve caught his eye in days. He gives somewhat of a smile, and I give a mediocre reply to his mediocre attempt and go on pretending to listen to Scott and his story of how his mother agreed to him getting a motorcycle when instead I think about my own life. It’s selfish, yes, but seeing his face does that to me, I suppose.

Danny.

We haven’t spoken since the day I was at Derek’s home, not face to face, not on the phone, not even by text message. I don’t know if he’s doing it on purpose, but really, what do I expect him to say? Call me up and ask if I want to have a sleepover? After whatever it was that happened between us… You just don’t come back from that, not that quickly.

The only other time we talked after that was when we were in a class together and I was the only person he knew sitting close by so he asked for a pencil. To tell you the truth, when he turned back and whispered my name I was expecting a lot more than ‘Can I borrow a pencil?’

I can’t have everything, though, can I? I can’t just walk away from whatever we were and expect everything to fall back into its old routine. Things have changed, and I like to think that it’s good that we’re changing, even if some changes make you feel irrationally guilty on the inside.

However, Derek soon walks up to Scott and me and joins the conversation. I smile distractedly and decide that I should stop thinking about the past. Everything that’s been bugging me… It’s all over and there’s nothing to be done about it. Maybe, if nothing else, this is what I should gain from whatever purpose Danny is meant to have played in my life; because, if I’m not kidding myself, I can’t really say that Danny and I are going to be best friends or anything. Friends, at best. Friendly, probably. Not because we’re holding a grudge against each other, but simply because things have changed.

“Stiles? Where are you?” Derek prods as he pokes my shoulder.

“Nowhere. I mean, here. I mean—you know what I mean,” I groan. It’s Friday, and I’m tired. We quickly all head off to have lunch, picking Allison up along the way, as well as Lydia, who seems to have grown quite fond of me. Either that, or she feels the need to keep close ties with me because I am prime, underappreciated gossip material.

Let the record, however, show that I am wildly surprised by Lydia Martin’s once-in-a-lifetime, shocking display of humanity. I assume anyone would be as taken aback as I was by the fact that she had told absolutely nobody about my kiss with Derek. Usually, secrets find a way to make themselves the complete opposite of secrets around school, but this time, somehow, nobody knows about us, which leads me to think that one of two things is true: Lydia is a better person than I thought, or I’m not as interesting as I thought. Probably the latter. Not because I have low self-esteem, or something, but come on. Lydia? A good person? Please.

“Is he paying you?” I ask Lydia, sitting opposite me, when Derek leaves to grab a bottle of water.

“What?” she squints.

“How does the whole school not know about me kissing Derek that time? At Scott’s party?”

“Oh,” she muses and rolls her eyes. “Contrary to popular belief, I am not a bitch when unprovoked. I have nothing against you, honey, why would I go spreading your secrets around the school?”

“Cut the crap.” She looks offended but I don’t buy it. She gives in.

“It’s not worth it, now? I’ll probably need some leverage against you at some point, so why waste it?”

“I knew it!” I bark when Derek returns.

“Knew what?” he asks.

“That she’s an evil mastermind,” I hiss and wag my accusatory finger at her. She rolls her eyes once more.

“Well, duh,” he shrugs. Eventually, the rest of the group gathers around the table and things are almost perfectly normal until Danny comes up and sits about three chairs down, across the table. He turns to me and starts talking to me and thank God people don’t stop talking. I can practically see Lydia’s ear grow fifty times its size but everybody’s acting like nothing weird is happening.

“How’s that econ project going?” he asks me. I stare.

“Pretty good, yeah.” It’s going horribly. Me and Danny are working together on a project for econ but I totally forgot about doing my half and it’s due Monday. We were asked to pair up while we were still together. My only hope is doing it over the weekend. “I’m almost done. How about you?”

“If by pretty good, you mean I haven’t even started, then I’m doing pretty good too,” he smiles. I laugh in relief.

“Actually that’s exactly what I mean because I haven’t started either!” He laughs too. We talk a little more about the project, and thankfully Scott decides to bring up his motorcycle again, so everybody’s asking him questions and I survived talking to Danny.

I don’t really know exactly when a conversation with him became something to be survived. I guess that’s what they tell you not to get involved with friends. I should really take my own advice though, because when Derek comes up to me in the parking lot I completely forget anything about friends being off-bounds.

“So, do you remember when you came to my house last?” he begins and my heart jumps. It’s the first time in these past weeks that he mentions our conversation at his house, and it has been torture pretending that I didn’t want him to talk about it sooner.

“I do, yeah.” I lean against the hood of the Jeep to maximise the nonchalant vibe I wish I were giving off.

“Remember how I was going to tell you something?”

“Tell me what?” The remark earns me a sly smile.

“I was going to tell you if I wanted to be together or not?”

“Ah, yes,” I nod dramatically. “Now that you mention it…”

“You’re such a loser,” he groans but smiles even wider and playfully nudges my shoulder. “I have an answer.”

I’m suddenly very serious because I know exactly what I want that answer to be and my mind, despite my vigorous efforts to convince it otherwise, won’t let me believe that I’m going to get what I want.

“Can you please tell me now because you’re killing me?” I state firmly.

“Let’s go on our first date, tonight,” Derek suggests.

*

We agree on something very simple: a coffee shop. Even though I’m glad he didn’t want to go to a fancy restaurant or something, I can’t help but be anxious since this is our first official date. We’ve hung out many times before today, but a date… A date is different. It’s not just hanging out. You’re trying to make a good impression, maybe even impress.

Generally, there’s two types of daters. The first kind is likely to be the one to fit me the most: the people who try too hard. A lot of thought has gone into the simplest choices, like what t-shirt to wear, or wearing a shirt instead, or if it matches the shoes, or if it’s too fancy for the date, or if it’s not fancy enough, or… ‘Obsessive’ is a good word, I suppose. On a date with me, I think it’d be safe to say there would be a sense of desperation and a hint of competitiveness in the air.

On the other hand, we have the people who barely care. So much so, that they don’t mind showing up in whatever they were wearing when they realised they were late for their date, or showing up on time but caring so little about the date itself, that they talk about themselves all day; because fuck listening.

However, Derek just so happens to fall into neither of these categories. Derek shows up in his button down shirt, jeans and worn-out Converse shoes, looking like the right amount of fancy for a date, and the perfect amount of casual for a coffee shop. He knows when it’s time to talk about himself a little bit, and when to back down and listen to my babbling. He laughs at all the right places and pulls his serious face on just when it’s called for. He orders his drink with an ease I can only hope to achieve some day.

All in all, I am thoroughly impressed.

“Can I ask you something?” he questions while setting his cup down. I’m in the middle of a sip, so I nod awkwardly while trying not to dribble all over my chin.

“Why are you so nervous?” I raise my eyebrows at him.

“I look nervous?” I ask.

“Uh, hell yes.” I sigh. “Look,” he goes on, “you don’t have to put a lot of effort into all of this. It’s just like we used to hang out. Only we get to make out at the end of the night.”

I laugh quickly at the unexpected statement.

“Alright, we’re getting out of here,” he states and stands up. I promptly chase after him while he walks out of the coffee shop.

“Wait, Derek, where are you going?”

“Come on, get in the car!”

*

We end up back at his place. He inserts a DVD into his gaming console and I bring the popcorn from the kitchen. I sit on the sofa with the bowl on my feet while Derek tries to kick his shoes off and instructs me to do the same. The screen lights up again after loading and I see the title screen for The Hobbit movie, the first one. I smiles because I finally feel at ease. Sitting around, watching our dorky movies and stuffing ourselves with popcorn…

One detail is different though. Derek sits so close to me I might even call it snuggling and covers both of our legs with a blanket as soft as a cloud. Out of nowhere, and for no apparent reason, he gives me a small kiss on the cheek, and settles in against my side. I can practically feel my cheeks going red. At some point he decides to grab so popcorn, and I don’t know if he’s lingering or not, but he rummages through the bowl on my lap for a painfully long time. 

Thank God his parents didn’t walk in to see us both on the sofa right there and then because at some point through the movie we had fallen asleep against each other. Around eleven o’clock, I wake due to my dad sending me a text message, looking for me. I tell him the truth, and he asks if I’m coming home the night.

“Derek?” It almost hurts to wake him up.

“Derek?” I whisper harder. He stirs in his sleep.

“Stiles.”

“Derek, I have to go. Let go of my arm.”

“Stiles stay,” he groans.

“My dad is looking for me.”

“Tell him you’re staying.”

So, I stay. I text my dad, making sure to not worry him. I let Derek know and he nods sleepily, the frown lines evaporating. He gets up and leads me to his bedroom where we sleep in each others’ arms all through the night. I swear, it’s the best night’s sleep I’ve had in a very, very long time. Maybe this is what it means to be in love.

Actually, scratch that. This isn’t love. I’m not in love with Derek; at least, not yet. I just want to be smart about this. I want to see things for what they are and I want to have realistic expectations because what I don’t want is to get disappointed and crushed and heartbroken. 

So, I suppose this is it. We’re together now, and as far as I know, that’s all there is to it. It’s not some kind of magical fairy tale where he sweeps me off my feet and gives me everything I’ve been hoping for. Maybe we’ll break up in a week from today. Maybe he’ll kiss some other guy. Maybe I will. I could lose my virginity to him, and I could never speak to him after high school. I could even end up living with him. The point is though, a relationship could be amazing and it could be horrible and it could be just okay, and about a month ago, I never would have thought that I would be feeling like that. A month ago… Honestly, I wouldn’t have thought that I’d have a boyfriend by now. But if I knew that I would be with someone, I would have expected the world from them, as if my life is a Katherine Heigl romance comedy.

Damn. I’ve gown up.

In light of that self-discovery, I wake up in Derek’s arms and realistically appreciate the moment for everything it is. Fulfilling. I can’t see him because he’s the big spoon, but I can see his arm around me and I play with his hand. My heart warms at him just wanting to be with me, not sexually or anything like that. Just wanting to fall asleep like this, holding me, wanting to feel my presence. I feel wanted and comfortable, finally. I’m thankful for everything that’s happened to me the past few weeks, even the worst moments, because they’ve all led to this. This… very realistic approach to everything Derek Hale is and everything he could give me and everything I could give him. It may not be great, or even enough, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay guys, so this fic is completely random and I have not been inspired to write by anything besides the fact that I have yet to see a first-person narrative (if there are any, let me know!), so I thought "Why not?" Of course, tell me what you think, what you like, what you don't like, and I'll try and fit your requests into the plot! As these are the first few chapters, I would really appreciate it if you just left a review to tell me that you like it, even if you have nothing else to say! It just makes me feel like the time I'm spending on this is really worthwhile :) I've decided to keep a schedule with this, and post every Monday (Let's hope I can stick to my schedule).


End file.
